The second part of this post is all about the minestrone soup I made after this Sunday’s farmers’ market.

First though, I want to tell you about last weekend and the “Journées européennes du patrimoine” (or, European Heritage Days). I had already re-scheduled (note RE-scheduled) an eye appointment for Saturday afternoon, and Sébastien was set to play two tennis games Sunday. Though we’d been talking about it for about a month (“Oh, yeah, can’t wait to see that!” and “I’m sure there’ll be a long line, but we could try anyway.”), neither of us had realized the heritage days were this particular weekend when making all our other plans. I wasn’t about to re-schedule my appointment yet again, and, well, when there’s a tennis game, there’s a tennis game. So, we sadly didn’t think we’d end up taking much advantage of the long-awaited festivities.

As luck would have it though, Saturday was our day, as the eye doctor (over near Rebublique in the 11^th) proved to be a fabulous way to start the weekend (believe that!). Not only did the doctor say my view had gotten better (I know, right?), we stumbled upon La maison des métallos (more or less, the “house of the metal workers”). Now a cultural center in the heart of a diverse Parisian neighborhood, this was once a factory where wind instruments were made (and apparently sought after by American jazz artists in the 1930s). Then, the building was bought by the “Union Fraternelle des Métallurgistes” – with an entire history that we learned all about on our tour (thanks to the heritage days!). Now I’m looking forward to attending some of the center’s community-oriented performances, debates….

Sunday, we (after how many years in Paris?) went to the Musée Chaillot (directly across from the Eiffel Tower and dedicated to “architecture et patrimoine”). We chose it thinking it wouldn’t take too long and was doable between tennis matches. Wrong! We spent about an hour and need to go back. We didn’t see everything, but what we did was pretty neat.

This was the conversation upon arrival at the ticket desk (yes, even when museums are free for the day, you still have to get a ticket):

Ticket agent: Would you like to see the Gaultier exhibit?

Us: Um, uh. Oui?

Ticket agent: Okay, I’d recommend going directly there since it closes at 5pm.

Us: Merci!

Up the elevator we go, into a sort of dream world. We enter a room covered (completely covered) with blue and white striped fabric. It’s pulled tight over the walls and furniture – making you feel simultaneously dizzy and quite curious. Imagine pulling a giant pair of striped tights over your living room – you can distinguish the objects (like tea cups), but they’re under a haze. We continued to a small series of rooms after that – taking note of the amazing view over Paris out the windows. (The exhibit’s on until October).

Back down the elevator, we saw the rooms dedicated to different architectural casts (life-size) from around France (like church facades and statues). Then, we headed to the architecture floor. Quarter to six came too fast and we had to skedaddle.

Heritage Minestrone

Didn’t I say I’d write about soup? Well, here it is: after a busy weekend and an equally busy week coming up, I made minestrone – to last several days.

It’s easy. My only recommendation is cooking and keeping the noodles separate – otherwise they get soggy after a day. I prefer them al dente all the time.

Also, soak the dried beans in water overnight (that’s what my mom’s always done with pinto beans back home). It keeps them more digestible (we’ll leave it there). It also means less cooking time, and thus more nutrition.

Shopping List

1 onion

2 potatoes (diced small)

2 carrots

3 stalks celery

A handful or two green beans

1 can crushed peeled tomatoes and their juice

1 cup dried red or white beans (soaked overnight and cooked – about an hour)

1 cup small elbow pasta (cooked)

Olive oil

Rosemary

Thyme

Salt

Pepper

Parmesan cheese (finely grated)

Fresh basil

Recipe:

1. Chop all ingredients into small squares or pieces.

2. Sautée the onion, then add the potatoes, carrots, celery and finally the green beans.

3. Cover with water, add some rosemary, thyme and salt.

4. Let simmer until all the veggies are cooked.

5. Add the tomatoes and their juice (Maybe you could add this right away, but I had to run out to get it – stove-top burner turned off of course!)

6. Add the cooked beans.

7. When ready to serve, dish a small amount of pasta into bowls, cover with the soup, grated Parmesan, pepper and fresh basil.

The best is making this soup on Sunday and enjoying it all week. The flavors just get better and better.

P.S. This weekend, September 23-24, is the Fete de la gastronomie in France.

]]> http://thetomatoknife.com/2011/09/heritage-minestrone-recipe/feed/ 2 http://thetomatoknife.com/2010/09/gambas-au-safran-recipe/ http://thetomatoknife.com/2010/09/gambas-au-safran-recipe/#comments Mon, 20 Sep 2010 16:04:34 +0000 Joy Anna Becvarik http://thetomatoknife.com/?p=1493 Here’s a French-inspired dish for you, but first let me write an important reminder to myself: there are no outdoor food markets in Paris on Mondays. Not anywhere, ever. And, all the charming food shops lining the street near our apartment are also closed on Mondays, including the fruit shop, the cheese shop, the coffee shop, the neighborhood’s best bakery… probably even the butcher (but I’m not the one to ask about that). Just don’t let me forget that – ever again!

Back to the gambas and the restaurant that inspired me to cook these large prawns in a creamy saffron sauce with onions and garlic. Chez Bruno (Place Michel Debré, Amboise 37400) is one of my favorite wine-bar bistros in the Loire Valley – actually, in all of France. It’s a tiny place located just at the foot of the Amboise Castle, and in the summer and early fall you can sit out on their terrace under dreamy umbrellas. The first reason to go the Chez Bruno is for the view of the castle and the pleasant atmosphere. The second reason is for the wine (try La Closerie de Chanteloup’s chenin or sauvignon-blanc, for example). The third reason is for the satisfying, no nonsense French cuisine. We went there for the first time about a year ago, and that’s when I ordered prawns in a cream sauce over rice. Ever since then, it’s been in the back of my head to recreate a similar dish.

Here’s what I came up with (for 4 people):

Shopping List

24 large prawns (cooked)

½ onion (chopped0

1 close garlic (minced)

1 cup (20 cl) light cream

Several pinches ground saffron

Olive oil

Salt

Freshly ground pepper

2 cups uncooked rice

Recipe:

1. Peel and prepare the prawns. Set aside.

2. Brown the onion and garlic in olive oil.

3. Add the light cream, saffron, salt and pepper to taste. Let simmer over low heat, stirring regularly.

4. Add the prawns and continue simmering until they are fully heated; stir regularly.

5. Cook the rice and continue simmering the sauce to bring out flavor. If it becomes too thick, add a little milk until the sauce is the consistency you want.

6. Add a little butter/salt to the rice if desired. Dish onto plates and pour the prawn sauce over it. Bon ap’!

In Bracieux, France, the same small village that inspired Alexandre Dumas to write about the fictive musketeer, Porthos, you’ll find a chocolate factory.

Not far from Blois in the Loire Valley, chocolate-maker Max Vauché, has set up a chocolatier worth visiting. We took a tour of the contemporary facilities (where dried cacao beans stuffed into canvas sacks are rather mesmerizing transformed into fine, high-quality chocolates). The tour will take you through the entire chocolate-making process, from the harvesting of the beans abroad to the final artistic touches in France.

The tour was especially interesting for its focus on the company’s solidarity-based collaboration with the African Island Sao Tomé and Principe (nicknamed “Chocolate Island” and located just off the Gabon coast).

We visited the factory on a Sunday, so no one was actually making chocolate, but we were able to peek into the large “kitchens” and peer at the numerous machines used throughout the process. A weekday visit might be worth it in order to see (and smell) the grinding, churning and oozing chocolate.

At the end of the visit, we tasted chocolates from all over the world- and learned that, like wine, chocolate really does have a different taste depending on where it’s from. Although cacao trees originated in Brazil, they are now abundant in tropical climates around the globe. Among the nearly endless samples, was some rather bitter 100% pure cacao.

There were lots of helpful hints and tidbits to pick up. Some of them were about properly storing chocolate: keep in an airtight container (in a cool, dark place) and avoid putting in the refrigerator- faux pas I have to admit to. The reason: chocolate is very fragile and will take on the odor of the foods around it. Also, (like wine) cold temperatures will inhibit its aromas.

To learn more, visit the Max Vauché website.

Amboise, a small town in the Loire Valley, is known primarily for its overbearing medieval castle- once home to some of France’s most famous rulers, as well as to Catherine of Medici’s ten children!

Amboise is also renowned for Clos-Lucé, the stately home where Leonardo da Vinci (invited by the French King Francois I) spent the last years of his life.  We recently discovered that Amboise is also noted for it’s Sunday morning open-air market- for us, this meant the discovery of some new cheeses and cheese desserts.

At first I thought it was a mistake- that the unidentified food item sitting on the vendor’s booth was burnt, really burnt. Turns out, that’s the way a tourteau au fromage is supposed to be. Made from thick, creamy fromage blanc this cake is originally from the Poitou-Charentes region of France. Outside, it’s round and looks like a turtle shell, or rather a crab shell (in French, a tourteau is a large crab). Did I mention it looks like a burnt crab shell? Inside, it’s light, airy and slightly sweet. We were told we could eat this delight either with an aperitif or for breakfast- it didn’t actually make it that far.

The next foodie adventure was camembert au Calvados- basically soft cheese soaked in alcohol and then covered in bread crumbs. Calvados is a brandy made of distilled apple or pear from Normandy. I had trouble deciding if I actually liked this cheese or not- it was smooth and creamy like ordinary camembert, yet had a very strong kick, thanks to the Calvados. We ended up saying, “It’s different.” Definitely worth trying, but might not make regular appearances on the cheese platter.

Next post: Still in the Loire, but this time…chocolate in Bracieux.

Our thoroughly amusing find at the farmers’ market this week: a bouquet of cabbage flowers.

On the sign, it was simply marked “choux” (the French word for cabbage), but a quick Internet search revealed a couple other potential names in English: flowering kale and ornamental cabbage. I’m still a bit confused about these guys, for the name, and also for their form; usually, plants in the cabbage family have short stems, but these ones are at least a foot long!

The bouquet of five oversized flowers was too original to resist: thick purple and green stalks (reminiscent of giant asparagus sprigs), topped with purple cabbage heads and a row of sturdy green leaves.

In French, chouchou is a term that can be both endearing or slightly pejorative. In English, we often refer to a little child or our sweetheart as “pumpkin.” In France, this dear person is often called a cabbage! In elementary school, however, you won’t want to be called the class chouchou. I just started reading the well-known children’s book, Le Petit Nicolas (yes, I know I’m a bit old, but it’s a part of French culture and really funny!). It’s about a schoolboy and his band of little friends. Agnan is the first in the class and made fun of for being the chouchou de la maîtresse (the teacher’s pet).

I just got back from a few days in Alsace, a region known for its cultivation of cabbage and the traditional dish, choucroute or sauerkraut- shredded and fermented cabbage. Most of the cabbage had already been harvested, but I was lucky to see a bunch of tiny blue-green heads bobbing up and down in one last field.

Back in Paris this weekend, it was only appropriate to buy some cabbage flowers to bring home and put in a vase.

We didn’t really know if we were supposed to eat the heads or not!

Looking back at our most-recent two days in the Loire Valley, I’m still proud of myself for trying the tiny fish you see in the photo.  Friture de petits poissons was listed as an appetizer on La Croisette’s menu.  We were sitting out on the restaurant’s terrasse in a very small town called Béhuard, looking over the River Loire and enjoying one of the last warm evenings of late summer.  I was in the mood for culinary adventure and began setting up my rules for the evening: (1) I wanted to eat something I’d never tried before and (2) I wanted it to be something typique de la région.  Our waiter told us these little guys had been fished right out of the River Loire.  They were then battered up, fried and served to us with fresh lemon juice and tartar sauce.  Of course, the first thing I noticed were the beady eyes and I was slightly hesitant at first, but once I got cracking, I was having fun.  When the waiter came to clear the plate, all was gone- except for a few (yep, only a few) conspicuous-looking heads.

After this came the filet de sandre au beurre blanc, a white fish in a thick butter sauce.  According to the dictionary, sandre is “pikeperch” in English (I’d definitely never heard of that one before).  We’d been told it was not only native to the River Loire, but also the best thing on the menu.  We’d also been warned not to drink water with it- because the sauce was so rich (remember oil and water don’t mix!).  Instead, one was to drink wine.  When it comes to dining, we like to follow local advice.

Since we were trying everything else local, we went for two (well, four in the end) different glasses of dry white wine from the region.  According to this site, the Loire Valley is France’s leading producer of white wines.  Here’s what we ordered: a Savennières (Domaine des Forges, Clos du Papillon) and an Anjou blanc (Domaine Mosse). Unlike many other French wines, those of the Loire Valley tend to be made from a single cépage (grape variety).  Both of these were of the variety Chenin and, served chilled, went extremely well with the sandre.  As usual, I was on the lookout for a candidate for my “extra kudos for sustainability.” This trip’s winner: Domaine Mosse, since they practice organic farming techniques in their vineyards.

Our meal came between a visit to the Chateau de Serrant and a night in the bed and breakfast La Tour Girault.  This lesser-known castle was especially impressive for two reasons: the 135-square-meter kitchen (with its eight-oven kitchen range and 900 pieces of copper cookware) and the equally large library (with its 8,000 leather-bound books, including an original copy of Jean de la Fontaine’s Fables).  Apparently, this collection is one of the largest in France and actually counts 12,000 books total.

We have yet to be disappointed with a bed and breakfast in the Loire Valley and now have another favorite to add to our list.  Ask for the room “Sampan” for the very original charpente (the A-frame woodwork coming down from the ceiling).  Our hostess was especially welcoming and even made our dinner reservations for us- knowing the only restaurant open on a Monday evening!  And, as usual, I paid special attention to the homemade green plum jam at breakfast.

Two days was way to short, but that’s probably why we keep going back to the Loire Valley…

Hasn’t everyone dreamt of biking through the French countryside?

Imagined themselves rolling up and down inviting hills, a gentle wind blowing on their face?  Ripe vineyards on one side, lush forest and blue Atlantic waves on the other?  Don’t leave out the baguette and bottle of Bordeaux nestled in the basket on the front of the bike. Perfect, no?  What we tend to forget in our little fantasy is the next day, and the sore back that comes from 20 km of spontaneous biking.  Another word for my current state: summer vacation.

When we left Paris nearly two weeks ago, two of the three boulangeries in our neighborhood were closed until the end of the month.  The other one didn’t seem to have the energy to make enough chocolate croissants for the handful of residents still lingering in the city- a sure sign it was time to do what most Parisians do during the month of August: go on vacation.  Some go to the mountains, others to the countryside, even more to the seaside.  Sébastien and I have been gallivanting around Aquitaine (yes, in part on bike), getting some much-needed sun and, of course, trying some local cooking techniques.  I’ll have stories when I get back: from our first-ever whole fish cooked over open flames to using sarments from local vineyards to make a barbecue.  What are sarments?  I’ll be writing all about them next week.

Here’s one last post in my series on the Loire Valley.

Now that we’ve seen where we stayed and what we saw, this one’s about what we ate.

Part 4: Asparagus Invasion

A primeur is a young fruit or vegetable that starts off the season. This is what we were eating during our trip in April. March through June is asparagus season in France and the Loire Valley is known for its production of this favorite.

In France, you find asparagus in three different colors: green, purple or white. I grew up eating the green ones and was taught to search out the skinny tender stalks. I’ve noticed, however, that the fat white ones seem to be the most common here in Paris- I’ve actually been on many an excursion around town trying to find slender green asparagus without any luck. The white stalks are white because they have never been exposed to sunlight and are picked as soon as they start popping out of the ground. They are tougher than the green sprigs we tend to eat in the States and need to be peeled before cooking. Though I’ve tried, I still have a preference for the stronger taste of the green ones.

Thus my excitement when I saw slender green twigs continually coming out of the restaurant kitchens on our trip. Even without trying, I had fresh asparagus at almost every meal: on top of pizza, as a side dish, in sauces…

Our most memorable meal was in Langeais at a restaurant called Au Coin des Halles (9, rue Gambetta). Here, I had bar (European sea bass) with seared asparagus and asparagus/lime sauce. At first I was a bit skeptical when I saw the color of the sauce: bright green like sherbet; but I was in asparagus heaven as soon as I started eating.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve noticed that even Parisian grocers have been subject to the asparagus invasion.

Looking in the grocery store today though, I sadly had to admit that the season has come to an end- all I could find where bunches of white stumps from Belgium. Guess I’ll have to wait for the next primeurs in March.

This is the third post in my series on the Loire Valley.

Like this one, the last post was on a castle and the first one about a bed & breakfast.

Part 3: Warning: Medieval Obsession!

As many of my friends know, I’m slightly obsessed (no, much more than slightly) with medieval history. That’s surely one of the reasons I enjoy living in France so much- almost everywhere you turn, there are remnants of the architecture from this fascinating period. Of course, the Chateaux de la Loire, are among the edifices that get me the most- for their imposing structure, as well as for their intriguing history.

A mere 6 miles from Azay-le-Rideau is Langeais, an historic city sporting a lesser-known castle that is certainly worth visiting. The Chateau de Langeais was originally built in 1465, near the end of the medieval period. Although its looks like a fortified castle, our guide told us the chateau was purely residential and not used for defense. Unlike many others, it was not built on a hilltop, but directly in the city. What struck me were the large windows and sunlight that poured through them. Our customary image of a medieval castle is one with tiny windows and very little light. It was also interesting to observe the use of space in the Middle Ages. A single room would have had many functions and the notion of privacy wasn’t the same as today. For example, the royal “bedroom” also served as a room to receive guests. Today, we usually don’t dare ask to go into our hosts’ bedrooms! During the visit, I learned that it wasn’t until the 15th century that we began moving toward the specialization of space.

We visited a number of rooms, restored and refurnished, including the Hall where one of the most important marriages in France took place. Anne de Bretagne (Duchess of Brittany) and Charles VIII (King of France) were (secretly) married on December 6, 1491. What impresses me about this ceremony is the numbers and their auspiciousness- Charles was 21 years old, Anne was 14, and the ceremony took place at 7 o’clock in the morning! The story’s a bit complicated: Apparently, Anne was already married (by procreation) to Maximilian I of Austria. They had never consummated the marriage and it was annulled by the Pope. If I understood correctly, this didn’t actually happen until after she and Charles were married. The wedding ceremony turned out to be a significant event in French history because the union played a crucial role in reuniting the still independent Brittany with France. The walls of the insignia room at the Chateau de Langeais have been decorated with their initials and emblems (a fleur de lys for the king and an ermine tail for the duchess). The marriage, however, didn’t last long. Only seven years later, Charles died. The story goes that he hit his head on a low doorway. Interestingly, the marriage contract had stipulated that Anne marry Charles’ cousin, Louis XII (next in line for the throne), if anything should happen to him. I could go on and on, but…

Back to architecture: Next to the castle, you can still see the remains of the “oldest donjon in France” which dates back to 994 when the ferocious Foulque Nerra, Count of Anjou, took possession of Langeais. Don’t get confused: the French word donjon is best translated to the English “keep” or “strong hold.” In other words, it’s the large round tower in a fortified castle. Our common English use of the word “dungeon” refers to the cachot or oubliette- the dark underground prison. The word oubliette comes from the French oublier which means “to forget.” I wouldn’t have wanted to be one of these unlucky prisoners!

Next and last post on the Loire Valley: what we ate.

The first one was about the cave we slept in. In the next two posts, I’ll be talking about castles.

Part 2: Leave your guidebook at home

Our travel guides on France have started getting tattered- we tend to use them faithfully as we gallivant through new regions. On our last trip to the Loire Valley, however, we discovered there are quite a few “hidden secrets” waiting to be unearthed- and our guidebooks hadn’t even mentioned our favorite one. With so many remarkable chateaux decorating the countryside, it’s easy for many of the lesser-known sites to fall under the shadows of the most celebrated. If you’re like us, you’d enjoy visiting the renowned Azay-le-Rideau, Chambord, and Villandry, but you may also want to get away from the crowds and discover the other, equally fascinating, treasures that lay just off the customary itinerary.

Chateau de la Chatonnière is in Azay-le-Rideau, a very short drive from the town center. Why visit this medieval manor? Its gardens. I was impressed with the gardens at Villandry, and was equally enchanted by these. (You won’t be surprised why after you look at their website to find the connection between the two!). At first, we thought the site was closed since no one else was around. As soon as we arrived at the front gate we were greeted by the head gardener- telling us straight away that we needn’t pay attention to the closing time listed on the sign. We could stay as long as we wanted and, of course, watch the sunset.

Once inside the iron gate, we were free to wander around the twelve different gardens- each with its own name and theme. Among the most impressive were the vegetable garden (Jardin de l’Abondance), which took the form of a gigantic leaf, and the Jardin des Romances, which was an interlaced series of life-size “rooms” made of willow branches. We also enjoyed getting lost in the labyrinth and gaping at the seemingly endless field of white narcissus, in bloom only from March to May. The chateau itself is not open to visitors, but this was not a disappointment. The gardens, with the manor towers idling in the background, stood completely on their own.

Part 3: Chateau de Langeais