From the non-descript outside, you really can’t tell what kind of restaurant this is.  As you walk through the doors and dark curtains draped at the entrance, you begin to understand that L’Oga is a funky cross between tradition and modern trend.  The lighting is dim candlelight.  The walls are covered with boldly colored contemporary paintings and handwritten chalkboards announcing the menu and wine lists- a décor full of edgy, eye-appealing contrasts.

We opted for the special Valentine’s menu (49 euros per person, not including wine). Although there were two choices for each course, we went true Valentine style and both selected: entrée- nage de St. Jacques au légumes et gingembre (scallops served in a light creamy sauce with leeks, carrots and ginger); plat principal- mi-cru de thon rouge au sésame et basilique, purée de carottes et patate douces au lait de coco (seared tuna with sesame seeds and pesto sauce, accompanied by a sweet potato, carrot and coconut milk puree); déssert- coeur coulant chocolaté, coulis pistache (warm chocolate dessert with creamy pistachio sauce).  Also included in the menu: a cocktail of either champagne, rose, and litchi or champagne, vodka and raspberry.

Sounds good.  What did we think?  The atmosphere: fun and amorous, excellent choice for an evening en couple. The cuisine: Very satisfying (except for the scallops, which had obviously been prepared in their dishes ahead of time, as they were served too quickly after ordering and were already getting cold).  The tuna was perfectly cooked, tender and quite tasteful.  The dessert was also enjoyable, though the pistachio sauce tasted a bit bland.  The service: Unfortunately, the service wasn’t quite up to par.  Most of the waiters were friendly, but (except for the scallops) we waited too long for everything, from ordering to receiving the dishes- and the person who took the dessert order outright forgot about it.  What was awkward was that the tables didn’t have one primary waiter, but a constant rotation of three or four different people.

All in all, we had a really enjoyable evening. I can’t put L’Oga on my personal list of favorite spots in Paris, though, mostly because of the service and lack of feeling completely at ease.  What I did like about this restaurant is that it helped me get closer to answering my ongoing question: what’s French Cuisine, Today? This experience was a hint that modern French cuisine has undoubtedly been influenced by the larger international community- chefs nowadays seem to be taking traditional dishes and spicing them up with such exotic ingredients as sweet potatoes and coconut milk- a trend my taste buds find especially appealing.

L’Oga

Address: 82, rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud (11^th)

Telephone: 01 43 57 60 15

Metro: Parmentier

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…

Un bar entier is exactly what we asked for on one of our most recent trips to the fish monger.

Until then, I had steered clear of anything waiting on ice with eyes and a tail.  Being surrounded by the waves and the sea and all during vacation, it just made sense to dive in and face our sheepish “fear” of buying and cooking a whole fish.  Now bar, European sea bass, is officially one of my favorite fish- especially when cooked in a brick barbecue.

Hesitation number one came when we walked into the poissonier and gave up our place in line because we had no idea what to get.  All we knew was that we wanted a whole fish.  First we sniffed- my rule of thumb is, if it smells like fish, don’t buy it. This particular poissonier smelled like the sea more than the fish- a very good sign.  Then, we eyed the rows of fish piled on top of each other, as well as the miniature signs designating the type of fish, the price and where it came from.  I’d already read up on buying fresh fish, so I knew what we needed to look for:

Eyes: They should be light and clear; the film that covers them should be transparent, not opaque.

Gills: Should be red or pink.

Scales: Should be shiny.

Body: Should be firm when pressed with the tip of a finger.  (I have a thing about touching raw fish, so I put my faith in the other signs.)

We figured it’d be best to chose a fish we’d already heard of and that came from the most immediate water source.  Finally, we opted for a beautiful bar de ligne (which means it was caught with a fishing line, not a net) from the Atlantic.  Our big mistake came when we actually ordered the fish.  The young woman helping us asked if we wanted it écaillé et vidé, which means the scales are scraped off and the insides are taken out.  Of course, we each gave an enthusiastic nod and oui- we felt saved since neither of us wanted to deal with guts.  While getting our fish vidé was an excellent idea, getting the scales removed wasn’t- simply because we were making a barbecue and the scales would have helped protect the fish meat and keep the whole thing from sticking.

What happened next was not our fault.  Normally, when you buy an entire fish, you pay for the entire fish- which means, the fish monger weighs it before preparing it for you.  In our particular case, the fish was weighed, yes, but by the time the young woman gutted our fish and went back to the scale to get the ticket, she realized the machine wasn’t working properly and the ticket had gotten stuck somewhere.  To make ten minutes short, our “empty” fish was weighed again (a whopping kilo!) and we only paid this amount.  This decision came only after a lot of discussion between the young woman and her teenage colleague- who, by the way, proposed simply increasing the price of the fish to make up for what was left in the trash bin!

Back at the barbecue, we wrapped up the fish in some tin foil after sprinkling it with a bit of olive oil.  Once again, Sébastien was making our fish into a papillote, though unlike the shrimp and salmon, we didn’t use vine-stocks, but good old fashioned charcoal.  We thought this would be better given that the fish was so big and needed a longer cooking time.  Twenty minutes later dinner was ready.  Sébastien, being very gallant, cut open the fish (from the belly), slid out the central bone and dished fresh, moist pieces of white fish onto our plates.  Served with his special sauce (secret for the time being), it was delicious- and raised our confidence in buying and cooking a whole fish about ten notches.

What I learned during vacation: there’s more to vineyards than wine!

When we pulled into the empty parking spot under our apartment building last night, our venture home from vacation wasn’t quite finished.  We still had to unload the car.  You have to admit, most of us take a handful of unnecessary things on vacation with us- in our case, it was seven button-down dress shirts (for a man) and a pair of classy heels (for a woman).  It was also four unread novels (mostly for me), extra razor blades (for Sébastien) and a bottle of organic insect repellent (for both of us).  You really don’t need any of that when on vacation in Southwestern France.  Instead, we should have left room for the bottles of red wine, the over-sized jar of vinegar (you’ll hear about that one soon) and the cheese we brought back.  Fortunately, the cooking stories rousing around in my head didn’t take up any precious car space.

I’ll start with the barbecue. When you think of Bordeaux, you probably think of vineyards, right?  That’s normal.  When you think of vineyards, you think of wine.  Also normal.  How about thinking of barbecue instead?

Sarments is my French word of the week.  These are the vine-shoots, or branches, of a grape vine.  And that’s exactly what we used to make our barbecue while in Bordeaux.  No charcoal- just old newspapers, sarments, a few matches and we were cooking.

Sarments grow out of the cep (vine-stock or “trunk”) of a grape vine.  Usually between December and March, well after the autumn grape harvests, the vines are pruned and unnecessary branches are cut off, giving way to the following year’s buds. The viticulteurs (wine growers) pile up the unwanted sarments and the lucky people who live in wine country are free to collect them.

Since we enjoyed it so much, we made our “Barbecue à la Bordelaise” three times during our vacation- once for gambas (large shrimp), once for salmon and once for shish kebabs. For the record, we didn’t use any fancy-smancy barbecue, but an outdoor brick oven, like the kind you’d imagine seeing in Spain or Portugal, kind of like a wood-burning pizza oven, but not quite as deep and round.  Unlike traditional charcoal, vine-shoots are ready for use really quickly after lighting them; they burn out faster, too.  Thus, we opted for foods that didn’t have to cook for too long.  The shrimp and kebabs were easy- we just placed them directly on the flat iron grill that sat over the flames.  The piece of salmon was a bit trickier because it would have stuck to the grill.  In full experimental mode, Sébastien sprinkled it with olive oil and wrapped it up in a piece of aluminum foil to make a papillote.  In order the benefit from the savory taste of the sarments, he opened up the foil before the fish was finished and let it “smoke” for a few minutes.  We thought it turned out slightly reminiscent of the thick smoked salmon you find in the Pacific Northwest.  In sum, the vine-stocks gave the barbecue a very satisfying and unique flavor that would be hard to copy with any other wood!

Now that I’m back in Paris, it just makes me laugh that we cooked with the same matter that grapes and wine come from.  What makes me laugh even more is imagining what cépage our barbecued shrimp might have been.  The cépage is the type of vine (and thus grape) used to make a particular wine- in France, it’s most often a combination of two or more.  The most common grape varieties in Bordeaux are the cabernet sauvignon and the merlot, so I’ll say our meal’s hint of black currant (a typical aroma of both cépages) was more than just a figment of my imagination.

Anyone have any similar stories (or hints) on using vine-shoots for a barbecue, especially when cooking fish?  I’m all ears…

I recently wrote about how I became a pescetarian.

I admit, going “pescetarian” has been quite an adventure, from buying fish and learning new vocabulary (in both French and English!), to properly cutting it in a restaurant and, of course, learning to cook fish myself.

The first time I cooked salmon it reminded me of what one might end up with if they were stranded on a desert island.  It was fresh, yet blackened and tough, as though I had prepared it over an open spit, after having rubbed two sticks together to get fire.  Worse, trying to make sure it was cooked enough, I had inadvertently broken my pavé into small (near bite-size) pieces while it was in the frying pan.  The skillet was hot, too hot, and the edges of my salmon were getting pretty crispy, while the inside was staying bright pink.  Instead of turning down the heat, my solution was to slaughter it.

I kind of enjoyed my fish that evening.  It, however, wasn’t so much my sorry attempt at cooking that got me.  It was realizing, just before taking my first bite, that I was about to eat fish, something I had consciously stayed away from for many years.  There I was, sitting alone at the table, in front of my “meal,” wondering if I should actually eat it.  On one hand, I was anxious to try the much-awaited, much-debated fish.  On the other, I couldn’t help thinking about how it had once been alive, with eyes and internal organs.  I suddenly felt guilty, a wave of ethics and morals crashing over me.  What was I doing?  I wasn’t really stranded on an island.  I didn’t need to eat this being, lying dead (and brutally butchered) on my plate.  I sat for a minute, thinking about where this fish might have come from, imagining it swimming blissfully in the sea.  I hadn’t been prepared for this feeling of culpability.  I forced myself to bitterly swallow these feelings and lifted a forkful to my mouth.  It would have been even worse to not eat the fish now that I had brought it to its current state.  And, if I didn’t like it, I’d never have to do it again.

The next time I had fish, I ordered it in a restaurant and what a difference that made.  Then, a few months later, Sébastien and I moved in together and he took over the fish cooking.  I did notice that eating fish made my energy level go up and I quickly started enjoying it- we’re a little spoiled here in France, especially along the coasts.

About a year ago, I decided I’d give cooking fish another try.  The advantages of not knowing too much about fish are: 1. I learn something new every time I step into the kitchen and… 2. There’s lots of room for creativity.

Because I was a strict vegetarian for so many years, I can’t bring myself to ignorantly buy, cook and eat fish.  I’m constantly reminding myself why and how I’m doing it.  I’m curious, for example, about which fish are in season, which are good choices health-wise and whether “organic” or “non-organic” is better…  Before lifting my fork, I also like to say, “Thanks, Fish.”

I’ll definitely be sharing more fish stories, as well as some of my favorite new recipes- now that I’m improving!

What do quinoa, mangoes and shrimp have in common?

Not much; they just all found their way into my “Tantalizing Tabouli.”  I’m a huge fan of tabouli, traditionally made with bulgur wheat and dominated by fresh parsley.  I often play with different combinations of ingredients, including the grains.  This version is a fun, colorful (and protein-packed) spin on the tabouli most of us know.

How’d I get the idea?  Recently, we discovered a new restaurant in Paris’ 15th arrondissement.  C’est mon plaisir (8, rue Falguière, 75015) has a menu filled with many enticing entrées.  Because I had to save room for the main course, I ended up opting for a simple salad with roquette lettuce, artichoke hearts and parmesan, but was tempted by a salad with, well, the three aforementioned ingredients.  Since eyeing them on the menu, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could put those ingredients together.  I made my tabouli twice: once using cold, cooked shrimp and mixing them into the rest of the salad (everything was cold) and once sautéing them and placing hot shrimp over the cold salad- I vote for this last version.  You can either keep the shrimp whole or cut them into smaller pieces.

Quinoa is one of my preferred “grains.”  I just referred to it as a grain, like most of us do, but it isn’t a grain at all. It’s a highly nutritional seed that comes from the plant Chenopodium quinoa, from the same family as spinach and beets!  Quinoa is known for having been cultivated, and highly revered, by the Incas and its popularity has steadily been increasing here in France.  It’s especially good for vegetarians, as it has a high protein content, and, for those who seek alternatives to wheat, the seeds are naturally gluten-free.  In France you can find it relatively easily, either in natural food markets such as Naturalia or La Vie Claire or in the biologique (organic) or commerce equitable (fair trade) aisles of larger grocery stores.

Preparation note: Rinse quinoa in a tightly-woven sieve before cooking to eliminate any film and to avoid a bitter taste.  Cook in salted water (1 part quinoa, 2 parts water) and let cool before making the salad.  Here’s the recipe for 4 people…

Shopping List:

1 cup (uncooked) quinoa
1 cup diced cucumber
1/2 cup diced red onion
1 cup diced mango
24 small shrimp (cooked and peeled)
Lots of mint leaves (cut into small pieces)
2 tablespoons olive oil
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (or more to taste)

Salt and pepper to taste

Mix all the ingredients.

If sautéing the shrimp separately, add some spices.  I used a few dashes of paprika and turmeric (curcuma in French).

We ate our tabouli with roasted veggies (bell peppers, red onions…) and a green salad with balsamic vinegrette.

What else might go well with it?

One of my favorite terms in French is amuse-bouche.

The verb amuser means to entertain or amuse and the word bouche means mouth. An amuse-bouche is a small hors d’oeuvre served with an apéritif. The term makes me laugh because I imagine sleepy taste buds being teased and woken up in preparation of the meal to come. An amuse-bouche can be any number of munchies, from peanuts and bite-sized crackers, to olives and tiny decorated toasts called canapés.

You can make canapés with many different kinds of bread. French grocery stores sell packages of miniature (about one square inch) pain de mie made specifically for this purpose. Pain de mie is the equivalent of sliced sandwich bread, soft and without a crispy crust. These slices come in a variety of different flours- white, whole wheat, rye, multi-grain… Or, you can do like Sébastien to get the same effect: take a traditional-sized piece of toast and cut it into quarters. Not everyone toasts their canapé bread, but we usually prefer it that way. If you want to be a little untraditional, do like me and cut a thin slice of your favorite freshly-baked loaf (for example, walnut or olive) and decorate that. If it’s still warm from the oven (which often happens when you live over a boulangerie) you may not even want to toast it.

We’ve topped our toasts with all sorts of tantalizing toppings, such as herbed cheese with sliced cucumber, green olive tapenade and fresh garlic with olive oil and rosemary. Our all-time favorite, however, is smoked salmon over a smear of butter or soft cheese.

Sébastien’s version
This one’s for the traditionalists. My mouth always starts watering when I smell the toasting bread and slightly melted butter.

- White pain de mie, slightly toasted and cut into quarters
- Unsalted butter
- Slices of smoked salmon
- Fresh lemon juice
- Ciboulette (Chives)

Joy’s version
This one’s reminiscent of bagels and lox. Since cream cheese isn’t so easy to find in France, I went in search of a close replacement. I discovered a soft, fresh cheese called Saint-Moret which works perfectly. On a recent visit to the States, I made these canapés, excited to use real cream cheese, and found that I actually preferred my French version. While cream cheese is still my favorite on bagels, Saint-Moret is lighter and a smidgen sweeter- perfect for this “mouth teaser.”

- Your favorite bread, sliced and toasted
- Saint-Moret cheese
- Slices of smoked salmon
- Fresh lemon juice
- Ciboulette

I won’t give you quantities or directions on how to put this together- it’s an easy one- just remember to let the toasts cool down a bit if you’re using cheese.

Enjoy with your favorite apéritif!

The year I decided to become a “permanent expatriate” in France was the year I became a “pescetarian.”

Translation: In 2005, as a teaching assistant nearing the end of her nine-month visa, I officially told my family I wasn’t leaving France. I also began eating fish.

Staying in France was not a difficult decision. Becoming a fish-eater was.

I did not like fish as a child (with the exception of baby popcorn shrimp covered in their layer of crusty fried dough). Thus my enthusiasm when my mom announced she was going to stop eating it. Of course, we children could continue eating fish if we wanted to. But my nine-year-old self couldn’t agree more: “Yay, no more fish! Save the dolphins, save the whales, save the salmon, save the clams!”

We instantly became a full-fledged vegetarian family. (The meat with legs had left the household before I had even been born). All through college I was a proud vegetarian with an exhaustive list of reasons why I didn’t eat meat- or fish. I couldn’t imagine ever eating it again.

Then one day, over fifteen years after my march through the house in defense of all sea creatures, I began thinking about maybe trying fish again. I actually couldn’t believe I was thinking this, neither could my sister (who had incidentally already become a “part-time pescetarian” but knew my views on what I called “animal human rights”. I was living in Southwestern France, far away from beans and chili (my comfort food as well as my essential source of protein back home). The restaurants offered no veggie burgers, no tempeh filets, no sautéed tofu over collard greens. I felt very lost. I could find certain “vegetarian meats” in a handful of health food stores, but the quality (and the taste) was not what I was used to and made me want to take the next plane back to the U.S. I began to realize that vegetarianism in France, though more developed than it had been five years earlier, was far behind what I had grown up with. People definitely respected the fact that I was vegetarian and I surely had my share of delicious fresh vegetables and rice, but I could tell that my body was not very happy. I felt tired, and just plain hungry.

Thus I began thinking about maybe trying fish again.

It was a good three months before I actually took the plunge. I had heard some bad things about seafood. I was particularly concerned about the presence of mercury. This element occurs both naturally in the environment and is the result of industrial pollution. When released into the air, mercury settles in the water (where it becomes methyl mercury) and then builds up in fish. A neurotoxin, methyl mercury can have negative effects on the human brain and nervous system. I was also concerned about unsustainable and unethical fishing practices, over fishing and potential damage to the marine environment.

I had also heard some good things about fish. Omega-3 fatty acids, which are especially good for your heart, as well as for your brain and eyesight, are found in fish. Since I wasn’t eating much tofu, I needed a good substitute. My abundant research also led me to learn that fish was a good source of amino acids, iron and zinc. There I was, leafing through books, trying to weigh the health benefits and the risks of eating seafood.

After much internal debate, I decided there was no perfect choice and a decision had to be made. I would try salmon, the fish that seemed to best fit my picky criteria. It supposedly contained low levels of mercury, yet was high in Omega-3s.

Last dilemma: I wasn’t so sure about leaving behind the title “vegetarian.” What would I call myself now? That’s when I discovered the word “pescetarian” (one who does not eat meat, but who eats fish) and dove into a pile of French cookbooks. I had never cooked fish and I had absolutely no idea where to start.