All Things Paris

Happy Bastille Day-

When I was 16, it was still the 1980's. Paris had a reputation then- elegant yes, but a little aloof. Like lots of reputations, especially those influenced by beauty, it was not at all true. So sweet, so warm! (and that is saying a lot for a someone who grew up in one of the world's friendliest cities). My family lived a summer at the Cite Fleuie - an artists' residence in the 13th. I learned more in those three months about the pleasures of the table, and of really every good thing in life, than in any decade before or since.

My parents spent their mornings in the atelier; I spent mine at the Mouffetard market. Maybe that is why I found it so warm. A young Americaine with public high school French and a curious palate, I made friends quickly there. Rather, I mostly badgered them into being friends - "What is a mirabelle, anyway?" - "Do I eat the skull of the small bird whose head is sticking out of that pastry?"  They had questions, too: -"Mademoiselle! Comment on appelle ceci en Amerique?" -"Eggplant." They thought that was hysterical. (To be fair, it is a less elegant word than aubergine.) Cuisine ruled the day- market in the morning, with the bread and croissants too, organizing the produce, then out again to the cheese store and the charcuterie. The lady at the cheese store had questions for me too, and demands- anxious of her cheeses' uncertain fate in the hands of an ingenue. There would be no eating of cold Camembert, not on her watch.  Everything was so perfect as it was, it was hard to want to actually cook, except maybe dipping the conventionally large strawberries in chocolate (not the tiny, fragile frais du bois - they were too shockingly expensive to conceal). We had cous cous several nights a week at a neighborhood Moroccan place with dark green walls. I always had au sept legumes, with lots of harissa. They put a kilo of sesame halvah on the table after and we would help ourselves, just like they bring the whole terrine at a casual French place.

My grandparents came, and we went on a trip to Normandy. Everywhere we stopped, old men would keep looking over at my grandfather, an american of a certain age. Eventually they would come over to table. Had he been in the war? In France?  (He had been in Italy, but spent some days in Paris after VE day.) He had the same questions for them. I translated every now and then, but their cameraderie didn't really need any help.

For a girl used to the charming dinginess of the New York subway, the metro was so elegant! Polished tiles, the gracefully arched ceiling, gold frames(!) for the advertising posters, and best of all the sound- that long horn when the doors are closing, the smoothness of the rubber tires. 

This was all a long time ago, closer to the age of Audrey Hepburn's Charade Paris than to now:

I was many times since then, and when I was there last year, many years after that first visit, everything that I remembered as perfect - which is simply to say, everything - was still just as perfect.

In random order, things to love-

* How you have to say "Bonjour Madame" when you enter a shop.

* Hot chocolate at Angelina's.

* Celerie Remoulade.

* Niki de Saint Phalle's whimsical fountain:

* Shakespeare's bookstore.

* Pernod, Ricard, and, even better, the various water pitchers from Pastis manufacturers.

Vintage Promotional Carafes at Chez Violette, Exarchia, (Athens)

* Ice cream from Berthillon:

* Ham and butter on baguette.

* The view from the roof of La Samaritaine department store.

* Diva, MicMacs. 

* Art students out with their sketchbooks everywhere:

Sketching on the steps of St. Genevieve.

* Going to half a dozen shops just to get things for lunch.

* Those barges:

* and bridges:

* And the people who taught us how to do pretty much everything worth doing. 

Read More »

Buona Figura

What's better than Black Coffee?
The frozen fish guy playing Nina Simone singing "Black Coffee" at 9:30.

"Oh... no. She'll want to go to the market with you so you show her the best stands." I have only one housewife friend- Kiki. She perceives the intricacies of the situation at once. The possible damage to my relationships at the weekly market would elude my other friends (who though lack for no savoir vivre in night life, where the guidelines are actually roughly similar). My mother-in-law is moving to our neighborhood and this- this out of a dozen possible foreboding musings- is the first thing out of her mouth. "She's going to bother your vendors...."

The thing is, to keep up a buona figura in the market you need to be ruthless, and charming. You have to be vigilant about quality, but you also have to be happy to spend to get it. Ruthless she is- I remember the first time I went with her- this is more than 20 years ago. She reaches into a bag that has been padded by the vendor (another piece or two he adds to round up to an even kilo or two) and pulls out a piece- "were you selling this as a tomato?" She was right, of course. But this is not the whole story.

She does good sometimes- for instance (this is also some 20 years ago) it's the third day in a row that the bakery in Chania (Crete)- one with an enormous wood oven turning out not just dark thick-crusted loaves loaves but also baking the meals of the neighborhood*- has given me bread still gummy in the middle. The first day it could be a fluke. The second day, my mother-in-law said- "Maybe they know foreigners eat softer bread, you know like that packaged, squishy bread we saw in the States." The third day, she marched me over to meet her former kindergarten classmate, the latest generation to run the family bakery. The woman said "Ah." She gave me an unabashed glance up and down, to register who I am. "We thought she was a tourist."- this by way of a completely reasonable explanation for giving me the last choice of loaf. Of course, it never happened again. And suddenly, I didn't wait in line so much either. It's like when the bouncer unhooks the velvet rope at a club everyone wants to get in to just for you, but much more important. I could live the rest of my life without seeing the inside of another club. But the right loaf of bread? That matters.

Instant gratification- cheerfully stocked shelves.
These are at a bodega on 24th street in Mission, SF.

When you're buying packaged food, who you are is not so important. It's a uniform product, sitting on a shelf, and it takes no discernment to select it, no charm to get the best one. It makes for an easy purchase, and at heart an unsatisfying one. But most of the things we have in our kitchens- our loaves and our fishes- are not uniform, and who you are is in fact very important, or at least it is in this part of the world.

Building your figura in the marketplace takes a little time. There are a lot of shoppers- experienced ones- matrons armed with metal carts- and you need to distinguish yourself over the course of several visits. It's not too difficult- the matrons are often pretty vicious. A smile, a little admiration, really stand out.

The Buona Figura comes more easily to some.

This goes both ways- you're not just distinguishing yourself, but also sizing up the vendors. Over the course of months and years, you'll have a routine of regular stalls. Along the way, you will necessarily have discarded several vendors- cheapness, wiliness, poor manners. It's important to be decisive about this. There are a lot of fish in the sea, and being ruthless about character is not so much a right as it is an obligation. These people are there for hours every week, same spot, they know who buys from who, and they know why. This is, after all, the agora**... the stage of public life; you've got to play your part.

Once you have your routine though, you can free up the charm a little. The people selling you this very important stuff have been up for hours and hours, doing backbreaking work while you were still too drowsy to think even about making yourself a cup of tea. Market originally is only for producers- farmers selling their produce, beekeepers, poultry guys, etc. Many stands are still run by producers, and a little connoisseurship never goes unappreciated. Admire. Apart from getting the best stuff, it is this that makes market a really satisfying experience. 

Kosma- a farmer with a small selection of
organic produce (the only one), with his:

"Κολοκυθάκια" = zucchini. "Παραγωγός" = producer (farmer).
They'll be a Boureki later in the week (Cretan dish). 

Many of the vendors you keep will sell the same goods. For instance, I have only one pumpkin lady, but several tomato vendors. I spread out my custom in an informal rotation, based on what looks best. Then I always greet the others. One of the tomato guys has this exquisite variety from late April (when it costs more than fish, and I'm happy to pay) until June, when the variety finishes. He comes to both markets so I see him twice a week during that season, and I buy heavily. To not stop by until the next April, that would just be tacky- like only dating a guy when he can borrow his dad's car.

Pretty Argyro, with fat melons...

and creamy luscious squash:

And when I buy, I buy fair- getting a representation of what is on offer. No rotten peaches, but not just the biggest peaches either. You can't be greedy. You also can't be cowed by the other shoppers: it's fine to admonish them charmingly for hogging the bin. I may pick carefully, but I pick swiftly as well and- this is important- no unseemly squishing and groping. Sometimes I tell the vendor "you know best." I get things nicer than I would pick out on my own***. They do know best, and they never unload the substandard stuff on a respectful customer. And if I don't need all perfect, I say so- no sense taking only his pretty salad tomatoes if I'm going to grate half of them into a pulp an hour later. Fair play brings out the vendors' generosity. It also ensures you always get first pick when you need it, and- most importantly of all perhaps- that none of the lovely things go to waste. Lastly, if you like having something special available, then you have to buy that thing. Only one vendor sells thyme and tarragon, so I get them, whether I think I need them or not. They always find their way into something in the course of the week.

The practiced hand of an elderly gentleman samples some tarragon.
That's his wife, getting out her wallet.

What do I get out of this? Well, the contact is nice. These people have a huge impact on my family's week, on the beauty of the table. And they know it- if something went over big, I tell them about it the next week. They also know how to get the best out of their goods- preparation tips, storage tips. The beet greens someone else had cut off always get stuffed into my bags as a parting gift, along with big handfuls of samples. Then of course there's the vip room of produce- items in limited supply they keep back in the truck and don't put out for just anyone. I get this stuff.

Babbis and his boys- beautiful produce, great service.

A buona figura is also an insurance policy. It's not just getting the best of everything and a friendly exchange; it's the vendors not treating you like everyone else. My head was recently turned by a very fine price on some small red mullets. As I looked back at them over my right shoulder, the fishmonger caught my eye, then glanced quickly upward - the Eastern Mediterranean's subtle gesture of 'no.' "Those aren't for you, my girl..." he said under his breath, then continued to hawk.

Pavlos, who sold me the bass in Rich Catch of Fish.
That's his daughter smiling in the background.

*this is a charming thing- mostly of the past but still going on- bakeries with large wood-burning ovens will bake alongside their loaves your homemade meal- your stuffed tomatoes, your leg of lamb with potatoes, etc- and you pick it up a couple hours later. How heavy those hot sheet pans laden with food are as you carry them not to the table but down the street and around the corner in the midday sun! But the smell- it smells so much nicer than it would from your electric oven- full of woodsmoke, plus whispers of your neighbors' dinners was roasting next to it.  They charge little for this valuable community hearth.

**Agora means marketplace- think of our word 'agoraphobia'.

***If the produce is artfully stacked, avoid this. Glancing behind the facade of the pyramid, one often finds considerably less appealing pieces- much smaller, blemished, unripe, overripe, etc. These beguiling structures are often the tools of the wily vendor.

Read More »

Boutique Shopping, a la Ellinika

Just as the idea of CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) was really catching on in New York, we left and came here to Greece. Not a bad trade, because if you want to, you can stick to the same basic premise- support your local agriculture, and love what nature gives us. Loving what you have and making the very best out of it happens everywhere in life- we don't pick our parents or genetically engineer our children, weather seems hard to control.... Endless choice on the other hand is not always so liberating. Imagine two choices- you can be in kitchen with nothing in it and a big stack of money and you can make anything you want- anything that exists in the whole wide world. It sounds great but when you think it through it's really just panic and frenzy, with a little gluttony thrown in. Or- you can see what the season gives you and use this as a focus for your inspiration. he birth of basically any classic thing we like to eat.was this- ingenuity, hunger, and not least, gratitude for the beautiful tasty things of the earth and the sea; it comes from someplace real.

I always thought the chief challenge of seasonal living was not so much the deprivation of unseasonal luxuries but of ingenious use of the bounty, sometimes of the glut of one single thing. More than once I have read of residents of a small town joking that the only reason people lock their cars in the night is to prevent someone from putting zucchini in them. Our "zucchini" is fresh anchovies- when they are running, they're 1 or 2 euros a kilo (that's 2.2 pounds!)- it seems thankless to pass on such an inexpensive and delicious protein. We enjoy them fried (and eaten) whole, then as boquerones, then boned, filleted and fried up to be put up en saor (this is so delicious).... If they weren't so plentiful, I'd not have had the fun of thinking of so many things to do with them.

To share the fun of this approach, I took this picture of everything I brought home from the Monday outdoor market, where I went with nothing in view save buying whatever was bountiful and perfect. Price was of course another factor (the real purpose of this series of thoughts is to share the beauty and dignity of good living when means are very limited), and, rather than being a limitation, was the most helpful guide to flavor and quality. When something is cheap it's often because there is a lot of it, and if there is a lot of it, that's because it is at its peak. But once you have identified what is at peak, then go ahead and spend a little: find the cheapest thing (apricots! tomatoes!), but buy the best (and maybe most expensive) of it. I tried for a mix of vegetables, fruits, and herbs, and this is what I came home with:

(That's a bowl of firm eggplants there at the back, and a nice stack of thin cucumbers is hidden behind the fennel and mint.) 

It isn't only for sharing with you that I arranged my haul on the outdoor table- I actually usually do this, to sort things (firm tomatoes from soft tomatoes for sauce, nectarines that need to ripen from those to eat today....), day-dream about what to make with them, and, well, to sigh and gloat. I don't remember the last time I bought fresh flowers- it would be unfair to put them next to that tower of glowing glorious fruit.

After day-dreaming, I think the still life on the table will probably become the following dishes:

Stuffed peppers (the peppers and the firmest tomatoes and the fennel and parsley and basil) (see Gene Kelley and the Perfect Week)

Tabbouleh (tomatoes, mint, parsley, cucumbers) (see A Love Like Salt)

Tzatziki (cucumbers and dill)

Eggplant Parmesan (the eggplant, the softest of the tomatoes, and the basil)

Acqua cotta

Panzanella (the super-sweet cherry tomatoes and the old bread I know i have) OR

Gazpacho (same, plus some cucumbers)

Galette of red nectarines and apricots

Cherries on their own (but if they get a little worn I will pit them and make a cobbler)

More cherries poached in syrup with a vanilla bean

White nectarines on their own, day by day as they yield to a gentle squeeze- these are the queen of summer fruits for me.

To be fair, they won't become those things on their own. We'll also need these:

(Olive oil, day-old bread, three-day-old bread, flour, cornmeal, salt, arborio rice, butter, onions, garlic, cracked wheat, and some zucchini left over from last week)

And we'll need some cheeses too but I haven't bought them yet. The pantry items are mostly inexpensive, and all easy to find. It's an astonishing number of dishes for such a modest cost and such an enjoyable spree.

(Of course, Greece offers unbelievable produce for a unbelievable price. That is one of the chief reasons I live here- this everyday beauty. Everything on the table cost me 17 euros. But you can do this anywhere: sure you can have something in mind about what you want to BUY or cook, just make sure you look at what is already around- plentiful, fresh, and well-priced. I do this same thing when I am not in Greece. In Oakland, California, I shop with my mother at the 99 cent store first- they have nice seasonal surprises like 99 cent bundles of asparagus or 99 cent bags of little red and yellow peppers, etc. We get what's fun, then we so over to Mi Tierra, the Mexican supermarket on San Pablo Avenue, to get whatever else is fun and fresh, then we go to across the street to the cheeseboard and splurge on a delicious local cheese, which we don't feel so bad about since we started out our day at the 99 cent store. We go home, invent something inspired from the haul- a grand mixed salad with cheeses and nuts, a vegetable galette or pasta, etc. Then we drink wine and watch Mr. Selfridge.)

I'll make the dishes and share them with you- I fell behind this week but there was all this fabulous produce then all the excitement with the World cup match.

Read More »