Category: The Fragrant Kitchen

Hazlelnut Macaroon, Jasmin Rosewater Macaroons Strawberry Pepper MacaroonsIntense Vanilla Macaroons

No cliffhanger here; we know which one I chose.  My hair is going to be a DIY affair.  I trimmed my bangs with the scissors of my Swiss Army knife.  and my hair color is from a box I bought at the Arab market.  No idea what is in it.  Probably something carcinogenic.

But I have my knives.

Knives are the most primitive of all tools, right up there with the semi-automatic and a tube of red lipstick.  Cooks will argue for hours about knives.  Here is my two cents.

I am not a knife snob.  I don´t have a huge knife collection and the brands don´t have to match.  I own two paring knives, two 6″ and 10″ German-style chef´s knives, two cleavers and a breat knife. My favorite small knife was made by a knife maker in Bali.  I could use it to chop down a bamboo forest and still slice tomatoes.

Instead of splurging at the salon, I bought a Wüsthof boning knife for $90, a fair price.  The blade is long and slender – perfect for working with meat.  A lot of brands have blades that are too wide, which makes boning difficult.  With boning knives, it is especially important that the blade is strong and flexible so it doesn´t snap.

Here´s where I become a knife heretic. most cooks put cleavers way down on the list.  Most own only one if they own one at all and they spend too much money on it.

The cleaver used most often is for chopping through bone.  In reality, it is a small axe.  It should be heavy and not expensive because it is going to get banged up.  Periodically, it will have to be ground on a wheel.  Sharpening it on a stone won´t work. The blade is too thick.

The other kind of cleaver is from Asia.  I have one and use it a lot.  It is not for chopping through bone as much as it is the Asian version of a chef´s knive.  However, the cutting skills for an Asian cleaver are different and must be learned.  Its blade is thin and the knife doesn´t weigh much.  The flat side of the blade is used for smashing garlic, ginger, peppercorns and other spices and for scooping up choped vegetables to cook in the wok.  This type of cleaver can be sharpened on a stone.

The third kind of cleaver – the one I just bought –  is halfway between the baby axe and the thin Chinese cleaver.  It has heft but a thinner blade.  It can also be sharpened on a stone.  This kind of cleaver is used for very specialized tasks, like chopping meat when you don´t want to grind it, for example when preparing steak tartar.  The knife I just bought is from the French manufacturers Déglon.  I paid $95, also a fair price.

So much for my rant on knives.  Time to sign off and head to my last class at Le Cordon Bleu.

PS: Next question: new dress or a 5o mm lens?

Sunday, I went to the Marché Bastille, where a lot of chefs shop.  This tray of mushrooms stopped me in my tracks.  I bought two.  The woman selling them wrapped them carefully, swaddling the tubers as if they were newborn babies.  That night, I cooked them gently in a white wine parsley reduction, finishing with a cognac flambé, then sliced and served them on toast points.

At the Bastille market, I came across the best cheese I have ever eaten in my life.  It was a gargonzola fresh from the farm. There was a small knot of Parisians clustered around a wheel of it looking at it like it was the baby Jesus.  I edged closer for a look. The stall had cut the top off of the wheel so you could see inside.  It was so creamy, the only thing holding it together was the rind.  I bought a thick slice, which the owner of the stall put on a styrofoam tray so it wouldn´t run over everything.

Two stalls down, I bought a crusty baguette.

On the way home, I went to the Arab market.  At the end of the day, the Arab merchants, who don´t want to lug produce back to storage, if indeed they have storage, drop prices precipitously and you can get some great deals.

I bought some crunchy pink and gold Gala apples to accompany the gargonzola.  I decided to make a salad, so I went to the stall that was selling all types of lettuce.

The stall owner, who was about my age, wanted to give me four heads of lettuce for the price of one.

“No thanks”, I said.  “I`m single.  I couldn´t eat that much lettuce before it went bad if all I did was eat lettuce morning, noon and night.”

“You are single?” he asked as he put the four heads in a sack and handed it to me.

“Yes”, I replied, taking two heads out of the sack and putting them back on the stand.

“Here, free gift for you”, he said, handing me a sack with four gigantic bunches of radishes.

“I´m single, not a rabbit”, I said putting two bunches back on the stand.

“My wife died.”

“I am so sorry.” Poor thing, that´s why he looked like he was going to seed.

“I am looking for new wife. Maybe you looking for husband. I see you before.  Always come end of market when prices low low low.” He slipped a couple of big lucious tomatoes into a bag and handed it to me.

“That´s me.  Looking for low prices, but not a husband.”

“I good man.  Do not drink.  Work hard. You think.  Maybe you change mind.”

“I´ll think, and you keep your prices low.  Deal?”

“OK Dokey”, he said.

Not an especially romantic proposal, but the tomatoes were excellent.

Paris is the mecca for cooking stores, drawing chefs from all over the world.  I thought I´d just have a look and then make up my mind between clothing and cooking.

Right.

I was able to pass up the gorgeous copper pans at Dehillerin on rue Coquillière and the white porcelain at Simon on rue Montmartre.  A sign caught my eye. Bovina, just a few doors down, was having a sale.

I asked a irascible clerk if they had a scale and precision thermometer on sale.  He looked at me over his half spectacles like I had fallen out of a tree and hit every branch on the way down.

With an flick of his hand, he dismissed me to the section of the store where they were. I could not find them so I came back to ask him to show me.

Clearly irritated at being disturbed again, he gave that French sigh that involves puffing out one´s cheeks, stomped over to where they were located and waved his arms.  It was difficult to determine if he was pointing, or just demonstrating the approximate size of a racoon.

I paid for my purchases, made an extremely unsuitable comment and left.

Next stop was MORA, on Montmartre, for some proofing baskets.

Pastry chefs come from all over the world to visit MORA. Shopping at this store is like dying and going to heaven.

Proofing baskets, also called brotforms and bannetons, can be found in just about every shape and size–round, oval, or long. You line them with linen for a smooth texture on your bead, or dust them with flour and leave them unlined so the pattern of the basket imprints on the dough (like the image above).  I prefer unlined.  I purchased two round proofing baskets and a specialty cake pan, then high-tailed it out of there while I still had some will power.

The last stop was G Detou on rue Tiquetonne.

Detou is a play on the words “du tout” meaning they have everything. It is one of the best shops in Paris for specialty foods, a place capable of bringing tears to a cook´s eyes. I bought two precious jars of truffles and a jar of Chef Fonds Brun de Veau Lié.  About the size of a small can of coffee, it is a syrupy reduction of 70 gallons of veal stock that is simply to die for.

The lingerie will have to wait.

I am already starting to plan Christmas dinner.