tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21504169644388378912024-02-18T19:12:38.163-08:00a taste of savoieSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-13335483651872539042011-02-09T11:04:00.000-08:002015-11-30T06:08:38.706-08:00a rustic loaf<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb9kvic_qs2OOJ1XeHhuQppi3UaprkkYeEaGeEjn-90Df4hdxRXlni_XcDtvIU3xCLNnJ_sVG7cH_gBIEhdgRecJqqTCZNlMM2AOlsN9nlGRD6F7kx_KKzGBRurGphoW0CQRoIOnHEcgc/s1600/bread+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxb9kvic_qs2OOJ1XeHhuQppi3UaprkkYeEaGeEjn-90Df4hdxRXlni_XcDtvIU3xCLNnJ_sVG7cH_gBIEhdgRecJqqTCZNlMM2AOlsN9nlGRD6F7kx_KKzGBRurGphoW0CQRoIOnHEcgc/s400/bread+2.jpg" /></a></div>
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Most days during the week, my alarm goes off at 7 a.m. and I lurch into three layers of clothing (in this freezing weather at any rate) and go for a run. But today my running partner cancelled, so there I was, basking under the duvet at 8 a.m., reminiscing about running along the white-hot sand in Western Australia - young and tanned and lissom of limb - when into this reverie burst BB with: "Get up. There's a sale on. We're going shopping for cupboard doors."</div>
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<strong>Cupboard. Doors.</strong> Can you imagine anything less tempting, anything less likely to lure you away from the kaleidoscope of memories of your 22-year old self under a relentless antipodean blue sky - terraced pub lawns overlooking the Indian Ocean, sun cream and salt, the pounding of the surf, jazz notes, the clinking of cold beer glasses?</div>
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So I rolled over and continued daydreaming and playing with my cat's ears, making them point sideyways like a gremlin, until BB reappeared and said: "If you don't get up now, I'll go on my own - and buy <strong>formica</strong> doors." </div>
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<strong><em>Eek!</em></strong> The "f" word. That got me up sharpish.</div>
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Bread. For years I've been making it in a machine, with dramatically bad results, until I tried making it by hand. Well, what a success. It's a completely different beast to that flat brick that emerges from the bread machine, looking like an offensive weapon and requiring one to cut it with. Ebay for the machine.</div>
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<strong>Rustic loaf</strong></div>
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<strong>Ingredients</strong></div>
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650 g bread flour (I use a mix of plain and cereal)</div>
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2 generous tsp salt</div>
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1 x 8 g sachet dried yeast</div>
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1 tsp sugar</div>
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water</div>
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1. Dissolve the yeast and sugar in a cup of warm water. Mix the flour and salt in a large bowl and make a well in the centre. Pour the dissolved yeast mixture into the centre and using a knife, bring in the dry ingredients until the yeast mixture is all soaked up. Then add warm water a little at a time and keep mixing until all the flour has been incorporated and you have a moist dough.</div>
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2. Knead the dough for 5 minutes, folding and pushing, then place the dough in a clean bowl with a little flour sprinkled in the bottom, cover with greased clingfilm and leave in a warm place to prove.</div>
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3. When the dough has doubled in size, knock it back by punching it to knock all the air out for about a minute then shape the dough to whatever you like, sprinkle the top with a little flour and re-cover with clingfilm. Leave in a warm place to double in size again. Preheat the oven to 425°F/225°C. </div>
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4. When the dough has doubled in size again, gently place it in the oven and leave for about 25 - 30 minutes until cooked (if it sounds hollow when you tap the bottom it's cooked). Leave to cool on a wire rack.</div>
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<strong>♫ Cook along to:</strong> Bread <em>Guitar Man</em></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-64060057486276193522010-11-23T12:55:00.000-08:002010-12-18T06:48:50.279-08:00pickled walnuts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPVCqtOFfw3sivVRhco-KVVn84tnVPEo4korB18-RXAfH4kODdLAVQlJoylxWlWEKE0xZicMZMWR23-7jKjXVndWMzgk_PkUC_pwwLUSMJ1Zuw2QipyghbRo-H-TtQBjJLnbZLz5Tm7xw/s1600/pickled+walnuts+8-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPPVCqtOFfw3sivVRhco-KVVn84tnVPEo4korB18-RXAfH4kODdLAVQlJoylxWlWEKE0xZicMZMWR23-7jKjXVndWMzgk_PkUC_pwwLUSMJ1Zuw2QipyghbRo-H-TtQBjJLnbZLz5Tm7xw/s320/pickled+walnuts+8-1.jpg" width="312" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Have you noticed how the French have a tendency to make exaggerated Stan Laurel expressions of disgust at the mention of British food? They must imagine we eat unspeakably vile things, for they aren't able to articulate what they are when challenged. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Which is a bit rich considering they eat <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2009/03/tete-de-veau.html"> <em><span style="color: #e69138;">tête de veau</span></em></a> and <em><a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2009/09/nuts.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">rognons blancs</span></a></em> and where all manner of things that could have been pulled from a vet's bucket are on display in supermarkets and <em>boucheries</em>. </div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSY6iKjezdLroGOUiEV-uA4IsRXtzu_d-iUixNNbwZ2UdsH2qi3wviV3RxutAAskDyFlbsp6_YkCJIMdd7Hpe9BFPTMqOKpUnN-Nxpnx2siTY7U5YqxBNKGJnkttK_XJykooXlmGSN8yX/s1600/pig%2527s+head.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifSY6iKjezdLroGOUiEV-uA4IsRXtzu_d-iUixNNbwZ2UdsH2qi3wviV3RxutAAskDyFlbsp6_YkCJIMdd7Hpe9BFPTMqOKpUnN-Nxpnx2siTY7U5YqxBNKGJnkttK_XJykooXlmGSN8yX/s400/pig%2527s+head.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back by popular demand</td></tr>
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But I have to admit, even I was reluctant to try these <strong>pickled walnuts</strong>, a traditional English accompaniment to strong cheese and cold meat, especially after seeing them at the drying-out stage, when they resembled cremated golf balls. But once they're placed in spice-infused vinegar and left to mature for a bit, they wheeze back into life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">These are last year's vintage, so the harsh vinegary taste has been replaced with a top note of oriental spices. Even my French <em>amis</em> enjoyed them - <span class="srch">begrudgingly</span>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>Ingredients</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;">2 kg young green walnuts (you should be able to slice through them easily with a knife)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">brine to cover (150 g of salt per litre of water)</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1 litre malt vinegar </div><div style="text-align: justify;">400 g brown sugar </div><div style="text-align: justify;">1 tsp ground allspice </div><div style="text-align: justify;">1 tsp cloves </div><div style="text-align: justify;">2 whole cinnamon sticks</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1 tsp coriander seeds</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1. Prick the green walnuts a few times with a fork. (Be careful: the juice stains any porous surface dark brown and you may want to wear rubber gloves.) Place the walnuts in a bucket and fill with enough water to cover. Stir in the salt. Soak for 1 week, then drain and make the brine again. Soak for 1 more week. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. After the second week, drain the walnuts and lay them out on trays to dry in an airy place. In 3-5 days they will turn black. Once they have all turned black, they are ready to pickle. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3. In a large pot, stir together the malt vinegar, brown sugar, allspice, cloves and cinnamon. Bring to the boil and then add the walnuts. Simmer over medium heat for 15 minutes. Remove from heat and allow to cool. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">4. Spoon the walnuts into sterile jars and fill with the syrup to within 1 cm of the top. Seal with lids and rings. Store in the refrigerator or sterilise in a hot water bath for 10 minutes before cooling to room temperature and storing in a cool dark cupboard. </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-68767648156788139122010-11-08T11:28:00.000-08:002010-11-10T13:52:48.204-08:00chou-rave gratin<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3Nvytza4dKp4PDP7otSMoclRfskcbQiGCF6yp744EA2i37vlHQojfQpI_J6pe9r3Qh2oipKmPtiFkFHbDKGN4l-mWITl1sznRCHRyScJ4WsANOYXQG1b2qPNBYAMvbR4EkiSdWqtbzi-/s1600/chourave5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit3Nvytza4dKp4PDP7otSMoclRfskcbQiGCF6yp744EA2i37vlHQojfQpI_J6pe9r3Qh2oipKmPtiFkFHbDKGN4l-mWITl1sznRCHRyScJ4WsANOYXQG1b2qPNBYAMvbR4EkiSdWqtbzi-/s400/chourave5.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">This is <strong>not</strong> Ann Widdecombe. I lied. It's a <em>chou-rave</em> (kohlrabi or cabbage turnip in English) and I'd never seen one until Nainbo gave me some from his garden last week. The bulbous part looks like a small white cabbage, but it peels like a turnip and has the same texture and firmness; and it tastes like cabbage <strong>and</strong> turnip but slightly sweeter and milder than both. The leaves can also be eaten -raw in salad or cooked in the same way as spinach.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You're supposed to pick them when they're golf ball-sized or they can be woody, but here in the mountains they like to wait until their vegetables are growing bark, so this one was a little past its prime.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But like the plucky Ann, I set about making a meal of it - and made a potato and <strong>chou-rave gratin</strong>.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You want equal quantities of <em>chou-rave</em> and potato. Peel and thinly slice the veg and cook in boiling salted water for 10 minutes. Drain and place the veg in a shallow ovenproof dish and cover with single cream, a couple of handfuls of grated cheese and top with seasoned breadcrumbs. Place in the oven on a medium heat for about 25 minutes, until the breadcrumbs are crispy and the veg is cooked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>♫ Cook along to:</strong> The Troggs <em>Wild Thing</em></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-70892027228879577572010-11-07T11:15:00.000-08:002010-11-21T11:18:37.494-08:00Ann Widdecombe and Anton Chou-Rave Gratin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzXyC_Bx64aV445Qvw9DnNskySObGPMcWndplkwaXABp2-Gt5kR1U9PNGqdmbCZFDzIpWFiiOeo8yl00QZAOb02hoD1u9aT6LSn9Wr8qyMxu1321aFM2YOJff5UyuezCwDEkkA7fkHG3b/s1600/chou-rave+gratin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzXyC_Bx64aV445Qvw9DnNskySObGPMcWndplkwaXABp2-Gt5kR1U9PNGqdmbCZFDzIpWFiiOeo8yl00QZAOb02hoD1u9aT6LSn9Wr8qyMxu1321aFM2YOJff5UyuezCwDEkkA7fkHG3b/s400/chou-rave+gratin.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Is it a vegetable - or Ann Widdecombe doing the paso doble? That's what I wondered when I saw this:<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTtxZVmIq6yzRQ1lB6SBhREdJ5c4uTyHO9WBdc2hVPLqTrSydvq1J4soev1DpgMDcDDxo5F1PwWbW9YduxXu7mCa9xDs_XaJSSLrrXizzoXveTvXWlJTL62PsNuK8Pef-65Abo3qhyYA6/s1600/ann+widdecombe.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTtxZVmIq6yzRQ1lB6SBhREdJ5c4uTyHO9WBdc2hVPLqTrSydvq1J4soev1DpgMDcDDxo5F1PwWbW9YduxXu7mCa9xDs_XaJSSLrrXizzoXveTvXWlJTL62PsNuK8Pef-65Abo3qhyYA6/s320/ann+widdecombe.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Funny looking thing, isn't it?<br />
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For those of you not in the know, Ann Widdecombe is a former British cabinet minister (shadow home secretary) who's currently appearing on <strong><em>Strictly Come Dancing</em></strong> - the UK version of <strong><em>Dancing with the Stars</em></strong>. And what a star she is!<br />
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I'm sure it's Ann in that photo. The fabulous fiery silk confection she wore may have been toned down using Photoshop, but there's no mistaking that thin desperate arm (on the right) hanging on to Anton Du Beke as he drags her round the dance floor like the Statue of Liberty.<br />
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It's one of the funniest things I've ever seen on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1dtNlEh3nW0"><span style="color: #e69138;">telly</span></a>.<br />
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To be continued ... </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-1573613921829168332010-11-06T08:34:00.000-07:002010-11-19T06:56:46.823-08:00fennel remoulade<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpM3PMnI4H-V8wDz68VJxQR-4SJ_IHCqfT9uXUr2T-z5uHE0wm7SMo_umUKsgvgOP7TEm2Z4iqEFBgsfKOJCPVMlvMVBKiV-oii4kx671PWBvUqTdeDc3LvW1dHdYYpO-jn7mqT8d5gVt/s1600/fennel+remoulade+10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpM3PMnI4H-V8wDz68VJxQR-4SJ_IHCqfT9uXUr2T-z5uHE0wm7SMo_umUKsgvgOP7TEm2Z4iqEFBgsfKOJCPVMlvMVBKiV-oii4kx671PWBvUqTdeDc3LvW1dHdYYpO-jn7mqT8d5gVt/s400/fennel+remoulade+10.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">My copy of <strong>Foodista Best of Food Blogs Cookbook</strong> finally arrived today. I've been on postie alert for days now because the book doesn't have a hard cover and I feared the post lady might try to <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/01/red-pepper-pilaf-and-postie-problems.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">wrestle it into<strong> </strong>the mailbox</span></a> in the manner of my monthly magazine and other bulky items, rather than exerting herself by getting out of the post van and taking a couple of steps to our front door.<br />
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As it turned out, it arrived by courier (DHL), but they seem to have the same attitude to customer service. At least the postie comes to within a few <em>feet</em> of the door; when the DHL guy phoned up, he said our little village was too far out of his way (read: wanted to slope off work early) and that he'd leave my package in the newsagents 12 km away.<br />
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The joys of living in the mountains!<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_K6AW_w5VGsJRePe1ofkW1CxJUk4ded4sMslIBieiESoAk1n5izFAJBmdYaRKf1c96s-II2AJll4JEiMEKkhr2mo6Uxmq7OnUeWiR1_F9vFET5mL14SymcWoazbPj0L8hgLUnXrngTREw/s1600/fennel+remoulade+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_K6AW_w5VGsJRePe1ofkW1CxJUk4ded4sMslIBieiESoAk1n5izFAJBmdYaRKf1c96s-II2AJll4JEiMEKkhr2mo6Uxmq7OnUeWiR1_F9vFET5mL14SymcWoazbPj0L8hgLUnXrngTREw/s400/fennel+remoulade+3.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">This is where I should segue into a recipe from the book (which is full of anecdotes accompanying great recipes from around the world - she said, shamelessly promoting it), but I'm not going to because this week I've been in a <strong>remoulade</strong> groove.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Remoulade is a mayonnaise-based sauce flavoured with mustard and lemon juice generally, but it can also include capers, anchovies, herbs etc. Here in France it's commonly used in <em>céleri rémoulade</em> - grated celeriac in a mustard-flavored remoulade - which we had at the beginning of the week, but today I made it with two fennel bulbs I found lurking in the bottom of the fridge. It's a great way to eat raw veg - as a starter or with fish.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>Fennel remoulade</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>Ingredients</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>Serves 2</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">2 fennel bulbs</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">mayonnaise</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">lemon juice</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">grain mustard</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">salt </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">1. Remove the outer leaves of the fennel and thinly slice the remaining leaves.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">2. Combine the lemon juice with the mayonnaise, mustard and salt and adjust to your taste (I used 1 dsp mayo, the juice of half a lemon and a tsp of mustard). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">3. Add the sauce to the sliced fennel a little at a time and toss until the fennel is lightly coated.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">♫ Cook along to: Ben Folds <em>Gracie</em></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-1518161354323137192010-10-31T13:59:00.000-07:002010-11-04T10:14:53.620-07:00wild mushroom, hazelnut and parmesan tarts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnzqm8tL85NgvOQ91saIkMwJtRqeMDHCxyQD4YbtfUzdxgVS9NuIgJqQzlviTe22H-Mm4uw-y97Fm2yBBcxUi5rNgXRI2edFsYScYXPPND5fc5apZjYpPybUtGXTwzRi6ITPFwBIVm8hb/s1600/wild+mushroom+tarts-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtnzqm8tL85NgvOQ91saIkMwJtRqeMDHCxyQD4YbtfUzdxgVS9NuIgJqQzlviTe22H-Mm4uw-y97Fm2yBBcxUi5rNgXRI2edFsYScYXPPND5fc5apZjYpPybUtGXTwzRi6ITPFwBIVm8hb/s400/wild+mushroom+tarts-2.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I'm having a freezer clear-out at the moment and what do you imagine I should find in the bottom drawer? Yep - those <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/03/cat-is-hat.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">PC dinners</span></a> I made for BB before I left for Paris. One even has a note on it saying: <strong><em>I bet this is still here when I get back</em></strong> - next to the one that says: <strong><em>Don't forget to feed Flippo</em></strong>.<br />
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They all happen to be fish pie, so I'm not sure whether it was due to BB's aversion to bending down or the fact that he'd gone off fish pie for some reason. Guilty associations with Flippo (deceased), perhaps!<br />
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I thought it best not to ask.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway - the day before yesterday I took out a piece of venison (shot by Roquin last month) and a bag of <em>chanterelles</em> (picked by me in July) and left the meat to marinade overnight in a little white wine with some chopped carrot, onion and a couple of bay leaves. Normally at this point I would reach for Anthony Bourdain or Elizabeth David for ideas on what to do next - which would invariably involve straining and browning and caramelizing - but this time I simply heated the whole lot up on the stove, added a little of my precious <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/09/veal-stock.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">veal stock</span></a>, a heaped tsp of tomato paste, some seasoning and placed in the oven on a very low heat for 3 hours.<br />
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Meanwhile, I made the pastry for the wild mushroom tarts and sautéed the <em>chanterelles</em> in butter, before adding some chopped hazelnuts and a generous handful of grated parmesan. Then baked in the oven for 15 minutes - <em>voilà</em>.<br />
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Well, at lunch yesterday, we ate in a pocket of silence, save for the odd small animal noise of contentment. It was the best meal I've cooked this year - and the most simple. <br />
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And now I'm having to justify three side-cars' worth of cookery lessons!<br />
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<strong>♫ Cook along to:</strong> Brian Wilson <em>Heroes And Villains</em></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-5064156884930292322010-10-25T11:53:00.000-07:002010-11-17T12:12:35.114-08:00the American dream and sweet & sour pork<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqpakZZ18wcLy6W7Dbk6AOG84G1ZrRV9JL0UPkKDJa3yTQKWzMEAiQ_Pw94tvuQD_4bUxiuVoo-dVwq-eE-VW2OyDVeCDQBk1ONUuV490DQ-Q1M5k5gZk7ROoF08utu967NHMwj-TRker/s1600/sweet+and+sour+pork+balls+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZqpakZZ18wcLy6W7Dbk6AOG84G1ZrRV9JL0UPkKDJa3yTQKWzMEAiQ_Pw94tvuQD_4bUxiuVoo-dVwq-eE-VW2OyDVeCDQBk1ONUuV490DQ-Q1M5k5gZk7ROoF08utu967NHMwj-TRker/s400/sweet+and+sour+pork+balls+2.jpg" width="346" /></a></div><br />
Many of my childhood summer holidays were spent on the west coast of Scotland, in a place called Kilchoan in Ardnamurchan - the most westerly point of mainland Great Britain - where every day for a week, the six of us would squish into our little yellow Mini and bump six miles down a single track road until we hit the deserted beach at Sanna.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzMGKR0T1fzMo8Pki-L0FD6jm2pqGi8ID_S-odx6_zCiltTiQkxHCcCjldQngSK0XJSLRPh4OcUH0pQc4_fl8jYKcou0XG4MoZA6VdlpX77Sg7Chz4uTH0jdfoNLMBO3QMOR41SB0pcfl/s1600/sanna.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzMGKR0T1fzMo8Pki-L0FD6jm2pqGi8ID_S-odx6_zCiltTiQkxHCcCjldQngSK0XJSLRPh4OcUH0pQc4_fl8jYKcou0XG4MoZA6VdlpX77Sg7Chz4uTH0jdfoNLMBO3QMOR41SB0pcfl/s320/sanna.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Here, we kids would leap into the dunes and race towards the sea while Mum settled in the soft white sand with <em>Woman's Weekly</em> and Dad rolled up his shirt sleeves and went to work under the bonnet of the car.<br />
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I'm thinking about the summer of 1976 in particular, when Candi Staton was singing about young hearts running free and the Bee Gees were telling us we should be dancing (yeah!) - when we had a <strong>heatwave</strong> in Scotland.<br />
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Imagine! <strong>Heatwave</strong> and <strong>Scotland</strong> co-existing in the same sentence!<br />
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When we weren't racing around under those high blue skies, panting in the heat, we were swimming in the sea or poking around in rock pools, collecting shells and dead sea urchins and writing messages in the sand - or just marvelling at our nut brown toes, thanks to Mum's liberal application of <em>Ambre Solaire</em> SPF1. The only time Dad ever ventured onto the beach, in his socks and shoes, was to help with the construction of our dam, which had to slope at a 30 degree angel and have a stone-lined slipway for controlled overspill. On one of these rare forays onto the sand, Dad pointed out over the turquoise sea and said: <em><strong>America is straight over there</strong></em>.<br />
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I dropped my bucket and spade and followed his gaze, open-mouthed, hoping to catch a glimpse of <strong>America</strong>, an alien land I'd learned all about from watching <em>Starsky and Hutch</em>, where they spoke with funny accents and called "chips" "fries" and the women had hair like an Alpine ski chalet.<br />
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That night when I flopped into bed and pulled the thin cotton sheet over my sunburnt body (thanks to Mum's liberal application of <em>Ambre Solaire</em> SPF1), I dreamed of going to America - and did so for many years to come.<br />
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Years later I did go to America - many times - and on the last occasion I had the best pork dumplings I've ever tasted, at <strong>Joe's Shanghai</strong> in Chinatown, New York. This restaurant is famous for them and as soon as you're seated, the waiter asks: <strong><em>do you want regular dumplings or crab?</em></strong> We ordered regular (pork) and a bamboo steamer arrived nestling eight plump pagoda-shaped buns containing little pork meatballs surrounded by a scalding meaty broth. They were <strong>utterly delicious</strong>.<br />
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I've never made pork dumplings, but the other day I made the next best thing: <strong>sweet and sour pork balls</strong>. This is based on a Ken Hom recipe.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7squX23s8CyfGZToApg1WjDfH7H6GlU4yIaeauAyD-yT-nQhV1Oq-uc8erjqhcyT5aw4X5OpplXee0PLhlhN1xMRtbMj1h9yGqum9ZhJcA8wGHiNKIYWEGW5DQpIpuZNVY2OZZoK-1El/s1600/sweet+and+sour+pork+balls+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV7squX23s8CyfGZToApg1WjDfH7H6GlU4yIaeauAyD-yT-nQhV1Oq-uc8erjqhcyT5aw4X5OpplXee0PLhlhN1xMRtbMj1h9yGqum9ZhJcA8wGHiNKIYWEGW5DQpIpuZNVY2OZZoK-1El/s400/sweet+and+sour+pork+balls+5.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
<strong>Serves 4</strong><br />
450 g /1 lb fatty minced pork<br />
1 egg white<br />
4 tbsp water<br />
2 tbsp light soy sauce<br />
1 tbsp dark soy sauce<br />
2 tbsp rice wine<br />
1 tbsp sugar<br />
2 tsp salt<br />
½ tsp freshly ground black pepper<br />
2 carrots, thinly sliced on the diagonal<br />
½ green pepper, cut into squares<br />
½ red pepper, cut into squares<br />
4 spring onions, sliced on the diagonal<br />
cornflour for dusting <br />
groundnut oil for frying<br />
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<strong>For the sauce</strong><br />
150 ml / 5 fl oz home-made chicken stock<br />
1 tbsp light soy sauce<br />
2 tbsp dark soy sauce<br />
2 tsp sesame oil<br />
½ tsp salt<br />
½ white pepper<br />
1½ tbsp rice vinegar<br />
1 tbsp sugar<br />
2 tbsp tomato paste<br />
2 tsp cornflour, blended with 1 tbsp water<br />
fresh coriander leaves to garnish<br />
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1. Mix the pork with the egg white and water using your hands then add the soy sauces, rice wine, sugar and salt and pepper. Shape into balls and dust with cornflour.<br />
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2. In a pan of boiling water, blanch the carrots and pepper until nearly tender (about 3 minutes). Drain and set aside.<br />
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3. Heat the oil in a wok and fry the pork balls until crisp and golden (3-4 minutes). Remove and drain on kitchen paper.<br />
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4. Combine all the sauce ingredients except the cornflour mixture in a large pan and bring to the boil. Add the carrots, pepper and spring onions, <strong>then stir in the cornflour mixture</strong> and simmer gently for 2 minutes. Add the pork balls and warm through and serve with chopped corander leaves.<br />
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<strong>♫ Cook along to:</strong> Rogue Wave <em>California</em></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-17811286269187059192010-10-17T08:13:00.000-07:002013-01-11T07:17:23.840-08:00Azorean dreams and corned beef hash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiow_4qUjgEHPbD_rTv-RAZrNNWFeOzyHBoEugK10ayiCI_nIzNpqHU8sqRzthYx5y7-DD3Iae2tnsF3doCB88rPj7dRK-C49qnr-G68jGm7Rp80Hf6CrAXxb8xCIWMqJcBOPeWe2NP1JkX/s1600/corned+beef+hash+6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiow_4qUjgEHPbD_rTv-RAZrNNWFeOzyHBoEugK10ayiCI_nIzNpqHU8sqRzthYx5y7-DD3Iae2tnsF3doCB88rPj7dRK-C49qnr-G68jGm7Rp80Hf6CrAXxb8xCIWMqJcBOPeWe2NP1JkX/s320/corned+beef+hash+6.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's normally around this time that I make my annual pilgrimage to Flores in the Azores to see my old friends Carol (aka Mung) and Neil. </div>
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But what with one thing (three months in Paris) and another (a trip to Scotland last month), I didn't think it fair to leave BB slaving away at the coalface while I disappeared off again on a jolly.</div>
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I'm sad not to be going this year. There's something about the peaceful rhythms of this tiny island, its savage beauty, the luminous sea, that makes me resolve to do - and be - <strong>something different</strong>. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flores, Azores</td></tr>
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But living in a little pocket of paradise bang in the middle of the Atlantic has its drawbacks; for one thing, you can't buy<strong> a tin of corned beef</strong>. The Mung and I have a great affinity for corned beef. In fact, it was over a corned beef and Branston Pickle filled roll that we first bonded, in a little caf opposite Edinburgh Sheriff Court not long after we met.</div>
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And we both agree that the tastiest thing to do with corned beef is <strong>corned beef hash</strong> with a fried egg on top. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSIK_CsZNKn0aEeNNLievpwFI5VFGZtVFRuEvyRp2RUDrsvnet1TEpXlGTOEiUiDenvgX-ndEFc-D-0O7X8coE6NHbeVEGSm3SxWEC4FlJprOsm7bEQke8pMwBg-wkpeXHL5yfkhC0t7n/s1600/corned+beef+hash+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMSIK_CsZNKn0aEeNNLievpwFI5VFGZtVFRuEvyRp2RUDrsvnet1TEpXlGTOEiUiDenvgX-ndEFc-D-0O7X8coE6NHbeVEGSm3SxWEC4FlJprOsm7bEQke8pMwBg-wkpeXHL5yfkhC0t7n/s400/corned+beef+hash+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
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Serves 2</div>
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tin of corned beef (the best quality you can find)</div>
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10 oz / 275 g waxy potatoes</div>
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1 large onion</div>
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2 tbsp Worcestershire sauce</div>
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1 tsp soy sauce</div>
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1 tbsp grain mustard</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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2 - 3 tbsp oil for frying</div>
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salt and freshly ground pepper</div>
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1. Cut the corned beef into chunks and mix in a bowl with the Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce and grain mustard and set aside. In the meantime, peel and cut the potatoes into chunks and steam until nearly tender. Finely slice the onion. </div>
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2. Fry the onion in the oil until soft and browned at the edges. Add the potatoes and corned beef, some salt and pepper and heat through. Fry the eggs in a separate pan and serve on top of the hash.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-22121518822786776782010-09-26T13:20:00.000-07:002018-11-06T12:16:14.257-08:00veal stock<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't mean to keep harping on about Gordon Blue, as BB calls it, but the longer I'm back from Paris the more I realise how much I learnt there. I am no longer </span><a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/02/steak-pie-and-cockney-rhyming-slang.html"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: inherit;">intimidated by pastry</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, I can deftly fillet any fish you care to slap me in the belly with, bone fowl, turn vegetables and make pretentious swirls of ketchup round a </span><a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/06/quick-message-part-2.html"><span style="color: #e69138; font-family: inherit;">crisp sandwich</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One thing I had yet to tackle was <strong>veal stock</strong>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the past I'd been put off by words like "simmer for 12 hours", assuming that if it took that long to cook then it must be time-consuming for the cook. But at Gordon Blue we were taught how to make a decent brown veal stock in <span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">under four hours - so it seemed rude not to try.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ordered 3 kilos of veal bones from my butcher, wildly guessing that they would cost me no more than €10, but when I went to collect them four days later, he said: <strong><em>That will be one hundred euros please Madame</em></strong>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>One. H</strong><strong>undred. Euros.</strong> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was a split second (after I regained consciousness) where one half of my brain said: <strong><em>What the ....?</em></strong> while the other half was reaching for my wallet - the half that appreciates the <strong>value</strong> of veal stock, no matter what the price. But then he gave me a wink, pushed his pencil stub behind his ear with the two remaining stubby fingers on his right hand and said: <strong><em>Just kidding. For you, </em>gratuit</strong>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well, I left that butcher's with a melon-slice smile splitting my face, feeling - absurdly - doubly lucky (if you can work that one out). </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">If there's one price we like in these parts it's <em>gratuit</em>, and factoring in veg from my garden, it was looking like a very good price indeed for some delicious velvety home-made veal stock.</span><br />
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Back at home, I tipped all the bones into two lightly oiled baking trays, mixed through some tomato paste and left them to roast in the oven until browned. While the bones were roasting I peeled and roughly chopped 2 carrots, 2 onions and a celery stalk and roasted these in another oiled baking tray until evenly browned and caramelized. Then I threw everything into my biggest stock pot, covered with 5 litres of cold water, added some sprigs of thyme, a couple of bay leaves and a few whole black peppercorns and left to simmer for three and a half hours, skimming from time to time.<br />
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So far, so on course for my 4-hour cheap veal stock.<br />
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But I hadn't reckoned on that most extreme of kitchen sports - <strong>straining</strong>.<br />
<br />
The recipe instructed me to do this as many times as I could stand (up?) and I was disappointed, given my diligent skimming, to see thick legs of grease running down the sides of the empty pot after my first straining manoeuvre. I washed the pot (using industrial quantities of washing-up liquid to dissolve the fat) and repeated the process eight times, cursing the still lardy pot - which by this time was nearly running out the door - and the diminishing returns of my precious liquid. At this point I gave up and decided just to bag the damn stuff and be damned, divided what was left (precious little!) into poly bags and went to put them in the freezer...<br />
<br />
... when, <strong><em>whoosh</em></strong>, the bottom of one of the bags split open and the contents splattered all over the floor and down the kitchen units.<br />
<br />
So, to summarize. The cost (in terms of money and time) of 4 eggcupfuls of home-made veal stock:<br />
<br />
<strong>Cost (euros)</strong><br />
€0.00 - veal bones<br />
€0.00 - veg<br />
€0.20 - tomato paste<br />
€2.30 - washing-up liquid<br />
€0.50 - 1 roll kitchen paper (mopping-up purposes)<br />
€150.00 - emergency plumber (to unblock the sink because BB was away in Italy sourcing floor tiles)<br />
<br />
Total: €153.00<br />
<br />
<strong>Cost (time)</strong><br />
30 mins - roasting bones and veg<br />
3 hrs 30 - cooking time and skimming<br />
2 hrs - straining and washing up<br />
30 mins - washing kitchen floor<br />
2 hrs - attempting to unblock kitchen sink<br />
4 hrs - waiting for emergency plumber<br />
<br />
Total: 12 hrs 30<br />
<br />
Veal stock. <strong>Don't try this at home!</strong></div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-81308629498303392542010-09-03T09:30:00.000-07:002010-09-07T02:10:28.250-07:00yippee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXNAF8oywP9XRL9fqDyoY0sgqWot9IbShfVsHqdWDxIaFneiRjTE-78oNFl6pjvNHy0ukKHMQWGqsKLQfOoxy1-JkNP5cAjdL8kPzhNK5xl6Z_f19-i5QbKrzPm3uXy5_lmvmwG0vHTAi/s1600/vegetarian+Scotch+egg+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXNAF8oywP9XRL9fqDyoY0sgqWot9IbShfVsHqdWDxIaFneiRjTE-78oNFl6pjvNHy0ukKHMQWGqsKLQfOoxy1-JkNP5cAjdL8kPzhNK5xl6Z_f19-i5QbKrzPm3uXy5_lmvmwG0vHTAi/s320/vegetarian+Scotch+egg+3.JPG" width="289" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">All my badgering of friends, family and you, my readers, paid off because my <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/01/vegetarian-scotch-eggs.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">vegetarian Scotch egg</span></a> recipe has been voted a winner in the <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/02/foodista-food-blogs-cookbook-please.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">Foodista cookbook competition</span></a> and will feature in the Foodista Best of Blogs Cookbook.<br />
<br />
You can read reviews and/or pre-order a copy from Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0740797670?tag=foodista-20&camp=14573&creative=327641&linkCode=as1&creativeASIN=0740797670&adid=19HEX632WA9SQ30D73PP&"><span style="color: #e69138;">here</span></a>. It's out on 19 October 2010.</div><br />
A huge thanks to everyone who voted.<br />
<br />
<strong>Coming soon:</strong> How <strong><em>not</em></strong> to make veal stock.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-16069075603618420052010-08-26T05:42:00.000-07:002010-08-26T23:41:36.830-07:00spicy pomelo salad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKORl447g6KZLZeLlpgQDInnR72JV9KwUn63wzKFg1T4PlOPlexuPaQ320rr4sxMe6SxRpMLc-xjTkNHQGXozy9lLW5nud-2RcVshHJZp11y9nYxFSX_NegOF-04WMXJKkPI3NcGFCyTHb/s1600/pomelo+salad+4-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKORl447g6KZLZeLlpgQDInnR72JV9KwUn63wzKFg1T4PlOPlexuPaQ320rr4sxMe6SxRpMLc-xjTkNHQGXozy9lLW5nud-2RcVshHJZp11y9nYxFSX_NegOF-04WMXJKkPI3NcGFCyTHb/s400/pomelo+salad+4-1.jpg" width="330" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">I started writing this post on 14th July, when we were going through a mini heatwave, when the average daily temperature was 36 degrees. And it's now past 15th August, <strong>the end of summer</strong> according to the Savoyards, because the temperature always noticeably drops after this date. Already I'm reminiscing about red fruit stains on picnic linen and sausages sizzling on the BBQ and swimming capers in the lake - and my favourite Ray-Ban sunglasses, now lying on the lake bottom, seeing and seeing while the fish slip past.<br />
<br />
We ate a lot of this <strong>spicy pomelo salad</strong> when it was hot. The pomelo is similar to a grapefruit but bigger, with a thicker skin and a milder sweeter taste. If you can't find pomelos, use pink grapefruit instead. A lovely refreshing summer salad.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobdjr4XLPCItF3x5tLQnSg79IWu4gkwdXHSSSCpf5J7bToeuMPHCJ0Yy7Yz2ReqL9LBwvRpDGbjDhMhApDqcJhcGp9fA0HSdiCc9WWsIZ6O6LpizxtuHF0WpUzXhtKQxzQiTYNjKIl2oK/s1600/pomelo+salad+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobdjr4XLPCItF3x5tLQnSg79IWu4gkwdXHSSSCpf5J7bToeuMPHCJ0Yy7Yz2ReqL9LBwvRpDGbjDhMhApDqcJhcGp9fA0HSdiCc9WWsIZ6O6LpizxtuHF0WpUzXhtKQxzQiTYNjKIl2oK/s400/pomelo+salad+3.JPG" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>Ingredients</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 large pomelo</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tbsp vegetable oil</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 shallots, finely sliced</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 garlic cloves, finely sliced</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 or 2 small red chillies, seeded and chopped</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 spring onions, finely sliced</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3 tbsp chopped peanuts</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2 tbsp lime juice</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 tbsp fish sauce</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1 tsp sugar</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">fresh coriander leaves to garnish</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1. Peel the pomelo and separate into segments, removing the membrane. Break each segment into 3 or 4 pieces.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">2. Heat the oil in a wok and fry the shallots and garlic until golden brown and crispy and drain on kitchen paper.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">3. Mix the lime juice, fish sauce and sugar and pour over all the other ingredients which have been gently mixed together. Garnish with fresh coriander leaves.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-56148560010626052592010-07-24T06:36:00.000-07:002010-07-24T10:11:17.494-07:00curry magic<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0eOPFsoQ9AFcVjkmy6oCb2l0QLzgYA0h2hnpyq3703IAKmUCwLOHfik26p0v3cCwvPiRImsngyPWNb5RLm5BQwBWXRM6cm4cYvGhINYmPiNdEDC7C_bOqgt-3We-3jk5gvG50fsoJLyY/s1600/spices+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0eOPFsoQ9AFcVjkmy6oCb2l0QLzgYA0h2hnpyq3703IAKmUCwLOHfik26p0v3cCwvPiRImsngyPWNb5RLm5BQwBWXRM6cm4cYvGhINYmPiNdEDC7C_bOqgt-3We-3jk5gvG50fsoJLyY/s400/spices+2.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
From sublime Joël Robuchon recipes to the ridiculous: <strong>curry</strong> <strong>that looks like fish food</strong> in a poly bag. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFr7TLvQ6ZRFsxz2zKjabrzmhxHzdI0eUyPk1MUBgBL2PAmMw2_0IFqCtEPuJ0TwU9HTe8EU7CffUAjfZbtjEXddZP-R3tqKrHgrTCOr8mNBJ6NXntOsgWdyRYDkHoN1fsNl0cguqtS5A/s1600/balti+curry+pack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" hw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXFr7TLvQ6ZRFsxz2zKjabrzmhxHzdI0eUyPk1MUBgBL2PAmMw2_0IFqCtEPuJ0TwU9HTe8EU7CffUAjfZbtjEXddZP-R3tqKrHgrTCOr8mNBJ6NXntOsgWdyRYDkHoN1fsNl0cguqtS5A/s400/balti+curry+pack.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But I have to share this with you because it's <strong>the best curry</strong>, outside India, that I've ever tasted - and I'm a bit of a curry aficionado. I would estimate that 80% of non home-cooked meals (restaurants and take-aways) I had when I lived in Scotland were curries. An ex-boyfriend (and fellow aficionado) and I would scour Edinburgh for the wettest curry - because a curry has to be <strong>wet</strong>, you see.<br />
<br />
Sadly, every curry I've had since I've been in France (including Paris, disappointingly) has been revolting: dry cloying sauces tasting predominantly of curry paste from a jar, kicking to death any other flavour threatening to make itself known. There's been nothing fresh or fragrant about any of them. The worst was in Méribel, where the chicken pieces had been coated in a torrid desiccated paste then heated in the oven. <br />
<br />
So imagine my joy when this little bag arrived (from my Aunt Hils) and it turned out to be so good.<br />
<br />
At first glance the contents look like wood shavings and bark and other detritus swept up off the forest floor, but when you add water and cook for five minutes, some strange kind of alchemy takes place and you're left with the most amazing <strong>wet </strong>curry sauce, to which you simply add your meat/fish of choice. It's made by a company called <a href="http://www.currymagic.co.uk/"><span style="color: #e69138;">Curry Magic</span></a> - <strong>and they deliver to France</strong>.<br />
<br />
I'm going to decorate the kitchen with flock wallpaper and pictures of the Taj Mahal that light up and play sitar music - so it will just be like sitting in my favourite Indian restaurant in Scotland.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-29940354363092146742010-07-07T13:51:00.000-07:002010-07-10T11:31:23.669-07:00fine food<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I've been getting a lot of stick about the <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/06/quick-message-part-2.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">crisp sandwich</span></a> and the <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/06/earthquakes-pillow-talk-and-great.html"><span style="background-color: white; color: #e69138;">burgers</span></a>. After all my banging on about "Cordon Bleu this" and "Cordon Bleu that", you expected more from me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">So I give you ... </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQWW2G7FVcxH0BRyMuxjg53ET8PhEVdKDuEhzLoFFYgWqC2se-RghYDjrgqBkZgBYEPRvCFSzlefN7n6-kVdKjdGuqh1UKGCNYB0Gr7xFAR-mkIOQc4MVLSXsEfhm9l2286iXPTZ8WZTm/s1600/langoustine+ravioli-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQWW2G7FVcxH0BRyMuxjg53ET8PhEVdKDuEhzLoFFYgWqC2se-RghYDjrgqBkZgBYEPRvCFSzlefN7n6-kVdKjdGuqh1UKGCNYB0Gr7xFAR-mkIOQc4MVLSXsEfhm9l2286iXPTZ8WZTm/s400/langoustine+ravioli-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong><span style="color: #e69138;">langoustes en fines ravioles</span></strong>. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">I bet they don't serve <em>these</em> down your local chippy.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4VzHgXd_czmunPgAKayM9_VPCZ4z9LgFm1zxAA7bAe3Db_5K2aFBGKx5_tVS0gw3Bn34xKei63zxQVb2WjjGxprXb2XzA4bUURNcIWsKeDF425FhGTEJ7jIcLyLdlvoJDC3XxqCMegJm/s1600/langoustine+ravioli+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM4VzHgXd_czmunPgAKayM9_VPCZ4z9LgFm1zxAA7bAe3Db_5K2aFBGKx5_tVS0gw3Bn34xKei63zxQVb2WjjGxprXb2XzA4bUURNcIWsKeDF425FhGTEJ7jIcLyLdlvoJDC3XxqCMegJm/s400/langoustine+ravioli+7.jpg" width="300" /></a></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is based on a <strong>Joël Robuchon</strong> recipe from his book <strong>Robuchon Facile - </strong>and it really <em>is</em> easy, yet could conceivably feature on the menu of one of his Michelin starred restaurants.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The ravioli are made with layers of paper-thin slices of blanched turnip, their strong peppery flavour perfectly balancing the sweetness of the langoustines and the red pepper sauce. One to impress your dinner party guests with.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>To make the ravioli sandwiches</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Slice a small turnip very finely using a mandolin and cut into circles (about 7 cm) using a pastry cutter. Blanche the turnip slices in boiling salted water for 15 seconds, refresh in cold water and pat dry with kitchen roll. On top of 2 turnip discs, place 2 or 3 cooked langoustines, some very finely sliced fresh ginger and a flat parsley leaf and top with another disc of turnip. Stack a ravioli sandwich on top of another and serve with red pepper sauce.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Red pepper sauce</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">50 g onions</div><div style="text-align: justify;">100 g red pepper</div><div style="text-align: justify;">15 g fresh ginger</div><div style="text-align: justify;">½ garlic clove, crushed with the flat side of a knife</div>45 g butter<br />
pinch of paprika <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">100 cl fish stock</div><div style="text-align: justify;">11 cl crème fraîche</div><div style="text-align: justify;">salt and pepper</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1. Peel and finely chop the onions. Peel the red pepper, remove the seeds and cut into big chunks. Peel and finely slice the ginger.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. Melt 30 g of butter in a pan and add the garlic and onions and sweat for a couple of minutes. Add the paprika, salt and pepper, ginger, red pepper and fish stock and cook on a low heat for 20 minutes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3. Add the crème fraîche and set aside for 5 minutes then add 15 g of chilled butter and sieve.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48CVjObaAlfapUMJRqdrHGjFIQd9DeSbRPdyyIvJ0SGwFNygIAubwuPXM4b312-SeIVxruKMKI_Bq4zZuJ7cLbPc6ETJx6CCThyphenhyphenzQEqIHo3-xYzLszmNWH5Ku9jqwY59E8KDYXoRsZSls/s1600/langoustine+ravioli.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48CVjObaAlfapUMJRqdrHGjFIQd9DeSbRPdyyIvJ0SGwFNygIAubwuPXM4b312-SeIVxruKMKI_Bq4zZuJ7cLbPc6ETJx6CCThyphenhyphenzQEqIHo3-xYzLszmNWH5Ku9jqwY59E8KDYXoRsZSls/s200/langoustine+ravioli.JPG" width="144" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-78284371271328342012010-06-30T11:54:00.000-07:002010-09-07T11:14:54.402-07:00earthquakes, pillow talk and the great American burger<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIKeXCEC5jftETqIhroPautR03e4n9Rr7YZut-84LHD2nSrWxUZ90uy7rxzmbKhCyTdjlAZI7nlxYkrvHfESV-FO-H7gM77jrNF0JaDSLsgZuGOn9rhHnpqAoNxXt-VRUbsijGKUMKmwW/s1600/red+spring+onions.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOIKeXCEC5jftETqIhroPautR03e4n9Rr7YZut-84LHD2nSrWxUZ90uy7rxzmbKhCyTdjlAZI7nlxYkrvHfESV-FO-H7gM77jrNF0JaDSLsgZuGOn9rhHnpqAoNxXt-VRUbsijGKUMKmwW/s400/red+spring+onions.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We had an earthquake here today. I was working on my laptop after lunch when the whole house started shaking and making shifting sounds, as if someone was moving furniture around. I thought I'd imagined it but when I checked on the <em>Centre Sismologique Euro-Méditerranéen</em> website, it was mentioned as having a magnitude of 4.2. Not exactly a <em>force majeure</em>, I grant you, but disconcerting none the less.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In Savoie, new builds and renovations have to be constructed to zone 2 seismic standards, or "elastically", to quote BB tonight, and regretting it instantly, I asked him what that meant:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Do you understand the difference between elastic deformation and plastic deformation <em>(here we go).</em> Take an elastic band and a plastic ring pack on a pack of beer (<em>I'm not listening. Look! I've got my hands over my ears and I'm humming loudly. La la la la).</em> If you pull the elastic band, bla bla bla ..."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZI8RMuhV_YcTw7TL3z-Iwq04G_C-YxtJqJKBD9RY8re88Mnp3Eev12thwYxr_rM2Hneb7y6uSkFhvLljZ2H3tZ0zyMdA-J388ZiDANslyDmCQoj5MjYI-FQJe4QxUainaAbOxdcmlx0T/s1600/red+spring+onions+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIZI8RMuhV_YcTw7TL3z-Iwq04G_C-YxtJqJKBD9RY8re88Mnp3Eev12thwYxr_rM2Hneb7y6uSkFhvLljZ2H3tZ0zyMdA-J388ZiDANslyDmCQoj5MjYI-FQJe4QxUainaAbOxdcmlx0T/s400/red+spring+onions+2.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">After the miserable wet start to the summer, we're into our fourth consecutive week of glorious BBQ weather and my <em>recipe</em> <em>de l'été </em>is this, from Jamie Oliver: <strong>great American burgers</strong>. The pre-cooked translucent red onions keep them moist and the addition of breadcrumbs and parmesan stops them from shrivelling up to half their size the way most home-made burgers do. An <strong>absolute must </strong>for the barbie season.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7wVHdAPD0guCeNSBEfgfYgPFICJ7YL7_BwYz1g86oulM2qA5JtrCBKPVt13mXk6vkKEPk0vTMkGowPOzL853f4xV0yonn39YbSmT1RmC9d9B_R_PrOhUc2OApyQW6wIQ9t1Z9PBAUTix/s1600/burgers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rw="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC7wVHdAPD0guCeNSBEfgfYgPFICJ7YL7_BwYz1g86oulM2qA5JtrCBKPVt13mXk6vkKEPk0vTMkGowPOzL853f4xV0yonn39YbSmT1RmC9d9B_R_PrOhUc2OApyQW6wIQ9t1Z9PBAUTix/s400/burgers.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><strong></strong><br />
<strong>Ingredients</strong><br />
olive oil <br />
2 medium red onions, peeled and finely chopped <br />
breadcrumbs from 4 slices of bread, crusts removed <br />
500g (1lb 2oz) good-quality lean minced beef <br />
1tsp sea salt <br />
1 heaped tsp freshly ground black pepper <br />
1 large egg, preferably free-range or organic, beaten <br />
handful of freshly grated Parmesan cheese<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">1. Fry the onions in some olive oil until softened (about 10 minutes) and leave to cool. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2. Put the cooled onions into a large bowl with the rest of the burger ingredients. Use clean hands to mix everything together really well, then divide into 6 equal balls for burgers and 18 equal balls for smaller sliders. Roll into burger-shaped patties about 2cm thick.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3. Cook on a BBQ or in a griddle pan - about 3-4 minutes each side.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-4098808640496529552010-06-23T13:42:00.000-07:002010-07-22T09:37:42.883-07:00quick message part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DsJxitwxTym0zSTNjaCPUXdIqGzlhNXwqtrYs51X7s6UfAfgRwVIDRxcu1C9q08v4KWhyor0i9lMZkw9Jw6-ZxgB2hCj6RVPTIwJwH4Db43ehfaOZLSfJFBWkKc80SfFvFtQ9FktQNI9/s1600/scrambled+egg.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ru="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9DsJxitwxTym0zSTNjaCPUXdIqGzlhNXwqtrYs51X7s6UfAfgRwVIDRxcu1C9q08v4KWhyor0i9lMZkw9Jw6-ZxgB2hCj6RVPTIwJwH4Db43ehfaOZLSfJFBWkKc80SfFvFtQ9FktQNI9/s400/scrambled+egg.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">That was a pretty feeble re-entry into the blogosphere, I know. About as impressive as a dull thud. But I just needed to get the ball rolling again. And talking of balls: I've been glued to Wimbledon, but I have a small window of opportunity before <strong>Federer v Bozoljac</strong>, so here goes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I got back from Paris after three months away and BB looked as if he'd been dining on dry crusts, he was so thin. I had omitted to leave instructions on <em><strong>what to do when the frozen dinners run out</strong></em>! So what tasty Cordon Bleu repast do you suppose I whipped up for him? Sea scallop carpaccio with cauliflower cream and Imperial caviar? Herb-encrusted breast of plover with a red wine and elderberry reduction? Blue lobster stew with sage, caramelized onions and young leeks?<br />
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Nope. A <strong>crisp sandwich</strong>.<br />
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What you do is: take yesterday's bread, spread it with some unsalted butter and sprinkle on a packet of salt and vinegar crisps which you've bashed up with a rolling pin. <strong>Oh, the irony!</strong></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-45149050225353031442010-05-05T07:59:00.000-07:002010-07-22T09:40:41.042-07:00this little piggy went to market<div style="text-align: justify;"><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3whfxK7yX1puP3o7Pb48b8exOB4xH1moE525EbVrhjN_skJR1AZKBjd6UoYjv0g6HuPo5kgjGsEDni9zvkctV4wlRlDNfDVj2_R2ovtNoBU0gxBQ3tp99jXAyZQzQEfC3rFApT7zVebNs/s1600/butcher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3whfxK7yX1puP3o7Pb48b8exOB4xH1moE525EbVrhjN_skJR1AZKBjd6UoYjv0g6HuPo5kgjGsEDni9zvkctV4wlRlDNfDVj2_R2ovtNoBU0gxBQ3tp99jXAyZQzQEfC3rFApT7zVebNs/s400/butcher.jpg" tt="true" width="300" /></a></div><br />
I've had some great food experiences recently: dinner <em>chez</em> my Dutch friend Sjoerd (from superior class); dinner at <a href="http://www.lehide.fr/"><span style="color: #e69138;">Le Hide</span></a> - a fabulous restaurant in the 17th run by a Japanese chef who trained under Joël Robuchon; dinner round at H's for her birthday last week; a fondue night at <strong>Le Refuge des Fondues</strong> in Montmartre where they serve wine in <strong>baby bottles</strong>; several market trips; and a visit to the world-famous <a href="http://www.poilane.fr/"><span style="color: #e69138;">Poilâne bakery</span></a> where you can buy a very cool bread box for a cool 244€.<br />
<br />
Our class dinner at <a href="http://www.ateliermaitrealbert.com/"><span style="color: #e69138;">L'Atelier Maître Albert</span></a> however - "a restaurant with Guy Savoy" - was disappointing. The <em>amuse bouche</em> of tiny grilled mussels on cocktail sticks had bits of shell and dirt in them and the chilled tomato soup tasted just like Heinz. The cod with herb mash was very good, if a bit basic, and the lamb shanks, while perfectly cooked, could have done with some figs or prunes or similar to sex up the sauce. Not really what you'd expect from a restaurant with links to a Michelin starred chef (actually, chefs aren't awarded Michelin stars, their restaurants are, but let's not split mussel beards).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">***</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">H is determined to be fluent in French by the time she leaves Paris in five weeks - which for someone starting from scratch and who sounds as if she's convulsing when she speaks it - will require a miracle of biblical proportions. She's started reading children's books, the French equivalent of <strong>Janet and John</strong>, and she likes someone, anyone - me, J, waiters, shop assistants, unsuspecting passengers on the Metro - to read words out to her to help her with the pronunciation. So I spent an excruciating 20 minutes in a posh coffee shop in chic St-Germain-des-Prés last week, reading <strong><em>Jeanette et Jean: Allons-y jouer</em></strong> (let's go and play) <strong>aloud</strong>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This badgering even continues in class. I'm pretty focused in our practicals and don't like to engage in idle chitchat, so I'll be concentrating on filleting a lemon sole or making a <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/03/filets-de-limande-bercy.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">brunoise</span></a> of carrots when I'll look round and see H through a haze of smoke, leaning casually against the wall admiring her nails, and she'll say: "Mate, how do you say in French, <strong><em>my saucepan's on fire?</em></strong>"<br />
<br />
<strong>Strewth!</strong><br />
<br />
We have our written exam in just under two weeks so I'm going to have to knuckle down and start studying - which means no time for frivolous blogging I'm afraid.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-71116066620040187172010-04-24T03:20:00.000-07:002012-09-29T03:33:29.635-07:00a busman's holiday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I arrived home last weekend I was surprised, in a Samuel Johnson 'dog walking on its hind legs' kind of way, to find that BB had cleaned the house. Not that it had been done well; but that it had been done at all!</div>
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It was great to be home. Before I came to Paris I was afraid I would love it so much I would never want to leave, but it transpires I'm a simple country girl at heart. I miss the mountains and the wide-open spaces ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVO8sbNsFCsTscK47S0U1niaK1W-RtsedUtyO7eyB0v0cRbvaSdb6leJbwBEUdcr181lVP-urqA8HPkX7TB6ybX6hwOxA7q9p3xcqvk_IXq2yq8JSj6F8NyDWUjYF4DYIoPVfs_JMzL0o/s1600/apple+blossom+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVO8sbNsFCsTscK47S0U1niaK1W-RtsedUtyO7eyB0v0cRbvaSdb6leJbwBEUdcr181lVP-urqA8HPkX7TB6ybX6hwOxA7q9p3xcqvk_IXq2yq8JSj6F8NyDWUjYF4DYIoPVfs_JMzL0o/s400/apple+blossom+2.jpg" tt="true" width="360" /></a></div>
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... and <strong>not having neighbours</strong>. I left my building here in Paris yesterday at the same time as my hobnailed-booted upstairs neighbour (who turns out to be a Little Old Lady!) and found myself tailing her, trying to check out her footwear. I reckon she's a European size 36 so I'm going to send her a pair of soft slippers.</div>
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On Saturday the usual suspects turned up at Nainbo's for <em>apéros</em> and we watched with amusement as he went round the garden scattering grass seed, closely followed by La Blonde, scattering weedkiller. Bit of a communication problem going on there I think. </div>
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Everyone wanted to know about my course and after a lengthy discussion about recipes there was a long expectant pause, at the end of which I tried to say: "I'm going skiing tomorrow", but it came out all funny and sounded like: "Why don't you all come round for lunch tomorrow?"</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
So instead of hitting the slopes or just lounging in bed with my cats, a cup of green tea and a good cookery book, Sunday morning was spent in the kitchen. </div>
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Now that the frost's gone my leeks are ready for pulling up so we started with <strong>leeks gribiche</strong> - braised leeks smothered in a smooth sharp caper-laden vinaigrette with a generous handful of snipped chives. Then we had <strong>pot roasted rabbit with rosemary sage and lemon</strong> served with turned artichokes and roast potatoes with saffron, followed by home-made vanilla ice-cream. <strong>Miam</strong>.</div>
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Since I'm struggling to find time to blog, a friend suggested I sign up to Twitter, so you can follow me at <a href="http://twitter.com/atasteofsavoie"><span style="color: #e69138;">twitter.com/atasteofsavoie</span></a>.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-3258137621248582232010-04-14T04:51:00.000-07:002010-04-15T15:44:04.468-07:00vegetable turning and nasty chefs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWo7Bcx7ngik5Uf2HovY5qbAEpnEoS4xmI05OstHN-4180wuMOJbn0Ph4ONt-7WbjxaKUz5c9yGfE42axgccec7flIrXr1Dzg-jJfQrFFOsASEkPW5sNtJdabrEqmYgcSx7OSoSgZVcch/s1600/artichoke.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWo7Bcx7ngik5Uf2HovY5qbAEpnEoS4xmI05OstHN-4180wuMOJbn0Ph4ONt-7WbjxaKUz5c9yGfE42axgccec7flIrXr1Dzg-jJfQrFFOsASEkPW5sNtJdabrEqmYgcSx7OSoSgZVcch/s400/artichoke.JPG" width="400" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We're into week four and already <strong>a third of the way through the course</strong> - I can't believe it. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To give you some background info on the school: <em>Le Cordon Bleu</em> offers certificate courses in cuisine and patisserie with students progressing through basic, intermediate and superior levels, after which they gain <em>Le Diplôme de Cuisine</em>, <em>Le Diplôme de Patisserie</em> or <em>Le Grand Diplôme</em> (if you do both cuisine and patisserie at the same time). I enrolled for the basic cuisine course only (as did J and H) but we're loving it so much that the three of us are thinking of coming back in the autumn to do the intermediate course.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We had our first blip last week when we were set upon by 'Gordon Ramsay' Chef. We have nicknames for all the Chefs, so there's 'Mr Bean' Chef (our favourite, who looks like, er, Mr Bean), 'Blackberry' Chef (who plays on his Blackberry when he should be supervising us in practicals), 'Hot' Chef (no explanation needed), 'Short' Chef (ditto) - and now 'Gordon Ramsay' Chef. Not only is he thoroughly unpleasant in a shouting and bullying way but he's plainly never heard of sexual harassment in the workplace (maybe it's not against the law in France - I wouldn't be surprised) as evidenced by his unwelcome and unnecessary physical contact with female students. Hopefull we won't see too much of him because he's a patisserie chef. </div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmuGZ-zVrQpecdbD3V9kBq3GeggS3XkhomfttFlfKeXlHgubcZi83zoWZoVIlo7liNdvAGPlccCLJ24ux4iKvaY1e430A10gQ9QIzza_3BxrbaJH_8hBWoS0pkLVSVI_NCx8T86I1VcC8/s1600/artichokes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmuGZ-zVrQpecdbD3V9kBq3GeggS3XkhomfttFlfKeXlHgubcZi83zoWZoVIlo7liNdvAGPlccCLJ24ux4iKvaY1e430A10gQ9QIzza_3BxrbaJH_8hBWoS0pkLVSVI_NCx8T86I1VcC8/s400/artichokes.JPG" width="300" wt="true" /></a></div> <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We're on to stuffings and <em>tournage de légumes</em> (vegetable turning) now - when you spend an hour paring down a carrot into a small barrel shape with seven sides. It's very traditional and very French, but <strong>extremely slow and repetitive</strong> and Paris is full of restaurants where dishwashers and commis spend hours a day locked in this seven-sided-servitude hell.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm going back to Savoie on Friday for three days. I actually made a surprise flying visit at Easter - only it was me who got the surprise when I saw the state of the house, so BB's been warned. He's just called to say he's down to the last of the beef stew PC dinners "<strong>which is a result</strong>" - and I don't think he meant that in a kind way!</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-64176433929578109542010-04-01T14:26:00.000-07:002010-04-07T15:09:38.651-07:00puff pastry with leeks, poached eggs and albufera sauce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We had a nice civilized 12.30 p.m. start today - after our group photo at midday. In today's demonstration the Chef showed us how to make <strong>puff pastry with leeks and poached eggs with albufera sauce</strong> and <strong>pear and raspberry tarts with almond butter and an apricot glaze</strong>. We actually made the puff pastry in our last practical - or rather, we started it off. I've never made puff pastry before and I don't think I will, through choice, again because it's quite a lengthy process and it's very hard to source the main ingredient (even here in Paris!) - <em>beurre sec</em> ("dry" butter) - so called because it has a low moisture content and high fat content which helps to keep the flour from turning into a greasy mess.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You start off by making your basic pastry in the same way that you would choux pastry - by adding melted butter, water and salt to flour - then leaving to rest in the fridge for 20 minutes. After that you roll out the pastry in a cross shape and place a heart-stoppingly large pat of <em>beurre sec</em> in the middle and then fold and roll and fold, flip over and do the same all over again, six times - or six "turns", to give it it's technical term (resting in the fridge for 20 minutes after every two turns) . My Canadian friend J, says she only gives her puff pastry one turn - she jumps in her car, turns the key in the ignition and goes to the shop to buy it! She has a point though because we were all agreed that Chef's puff pastry wasn't so earth-shatteringly different to bought stuff - so why bother?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The leeks and poached eggs in puff pastry recipe was <strong>sublime</strong>. You gently cook <em>julienne</em> of leeks with a little bit of butter and water until there's no liquid left, add some cream and seasoning and fill your vol-au-vents with this mixture and a poached egg then drizzle with <strong>albufera sauce</strong> (reduced chicken stock, cream, lemon juice and <em>brunoise</em> of red pepper). I think this is one that I'll be cooking over and over again once I get home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Big exciting day tomorrow. You know my favourite shop - <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2009/06/long-bad-thursday.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">kitchen shop heaven in Moutiers</span></a>? - well tomorrow, J (who's lived here for more than three years and knows all the really cool places to go) is taking H (our Australian friend) and I to <strong>kitchen shop nirvana</strong> - more than four kitchen shops even bigger than the one in Moutiers <strong>on the same street</strong>. I shall be like a kid in a sweetie shop!</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-23870177402156617172010-03-31T13:19:00.000-07:002010-03-31T13:58:52.871-07:00Quiche Lorraine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcd-qZj6QXpOhjBpXRckn_5sPWRbrvtT9gXOxH-GhUeIDoIt37-NEcqgzihsM5rzAG1KXGx3wUJREzNiccl1pdgoNESpD8h4vF0pBjKA5atyWyPqBPFyEoiM7O5XHj15XWT7bVXMXrmBvW/s1600/quiche+lorraine+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcd-qZj6QXpOhjBpXRckn_5sPWRbrvtT9gXOxH-GhUeIDoIt37-NEcqgzihsM5rzAG1KXGx3wUJREzNiccl1pdgoNESpD8h4vF0pBjKA5atyWyPqBPFyEoiM7O5XHj15XWT7bVXMXrmBvW/s400/quiche+lorraine+(2).JPG" width="267" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">After fish we moved on to chicken and <strong><em>poularde pochée sauce suprême</em></strong> (poached chicken with <em>sauce suprême</em>) last week, and in our practical we had to truss a chicken after we'd burned off all the tiny feathers with a chef's torch - which was quite scary. We've all been taught how to correctly pass a knife to someone (yes?), but few in our class had logically transposed that rule to the <strong>blow torch</strong>, so when I turned round to accept it from a Chinese girl with singed eyebrows, the blue flame licked all the hairs off my arm. <br />
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As I looked down the marble-topped work station at the <em>poulardes flambées</em> (the chickens on fire), the smell of burning hair in my nostrils, I realised just how dangerous a place a kitchen full of 14 wannabe chefs can be.<br />
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This week it's pastry and some of you will know that I'm a <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2010/02/steak-pie-and-cockney-rhyming-slang.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">wee bit</span><span style="color: #e69138;"> </span><span style="color: #e69138;">scared of pastry</span></a> - but not as scared as I am of getting third degree burns from holding a hot tray of <strong><em>Quiches Lorraines</em></strong> whilst waiting for someone to shimmy past me as if they were moving from their office chair to the coffee machine. <br />
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The cooking's the easy part - so far.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-53013300200684547572010-03-26T03:03:00.000-07:002010-05-09T08:41:33.320-07:00filets de limande bercy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Where to start? It's all a bit mental - and I have so little time to write.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are 44 of us in <strong>basic cuisine</strong> from over 15 countries (you can tell who's just jetted in from California or Brazil or Taiwan because they're the ones with creased faces, like old maps that have been folded and refolded a thousand times, from jet lag) and after three days we're all starting to find our own little clique. I'm in with an Australian and a Canadian - and surprisingly, I'm the only Brit.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday I was in school from 8 a.m. until 8 p.m., caught the Métro home, had a quick chat with BB on Skype, then went to bed. The French have an expression: "<strong><em>Métro, boulot, dodo</em></strong>" (commute, work, sleep) and that pretty much sums up yesterday and how many of my days are going to be for the next few weeks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We've been given a full set of <strong><em>Wüsthof </em></strong>kitchen knives (<strong>dangerously sharp</strong>) and the first practical lesson yesterday was learning different ways to cut vegetables without cutting your fingers off. So, there was <em>mirepoix</em> - cutting the veg into 1 cm cubes; <em>brunoise</em> - 2 mm cubes; <em>julienne</em> - very thin strips, 1 mm thick and 5 cm long; and <em>paysanne</em> - 1 cm triangles. The recipe we had to create was <strong>rustic vegetable soup</strong> using the <em>paysanne</em> technique - which I thought was a bit ironic. I can't imagine Mini-B's Mum spending an hour cutting veg into tiny triangles for soup - or BB noticing for that matter. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyway, Chef said my soup was "<em>très bien</em>" (very good) and I was able to hold up 10 whole fingers when BB asked to see them on Skype.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Today's lesson was on stocks and how to fillet fish, so in our practical we made <em><strong>filets de limande bercy</strong></em> (lemon sole fillets in white wine sauce) using fish stock (after filleting our own fish of course). I'm afraid the recipes are LCB copyright and we're not allowed to reproduce them but this is a common French recipe which involves poaching lemon sole fillets in white wine and fish stock with some chopped shallots and then reducing the sauce and adding butter and parsley. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There are so many things to remember - what to wear in which classes, what to take to practicals and we're all battling for space in the tiny locker rooms - but I'm loving it. Most of the photos will be taken using a flash so they won't be up to the usual standard. Must dash to school now. Later.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-22685370145962922572010-03-23T13:41:00.000-07:002010-03-23T14:14:13.718-07:00lessons<div style="text-align: justify;"><div align="center"><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUop4auav6e82_YXVBFOUQZUzvNGE6cnudBiUxhX3QbRfRtPQDdt6oCZWLijeDI5KSxeThbdl_WArijnsUbFjRQGkmSJ6T6ziIhyphenhyphenP3otld9Q-XMgq5bYE-brwy8Zf0m2aevi3gDgaTsBL/s1600-h/apples.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKUop4auav6e82_YXVBFOUQZUzvNGE6cnudBiUxhX3QbRfRtPQDdt6oCZWLijeDI5KSxeThbdl_WArijnsUbFjRQGkmSJ6T6ziIhyphenhyphenP3otld9Q-XMgq5bYE-brwy8Zf0m2aevi3gDgaTsBL/s400/apples.JPG" vt="true" width="300" /></a></div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">These are the lessons I've learned so far, after three days in Paris:</div></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some Metro stations require you to insert your ticket again to exit - so hold on to it. On Sunday, when I went to wave BB off at <em>Gare de Lyo</em>n (sniffle), I threw my ticket away before the exit barrier and then had to rummage around in the bin like a plankton to retrieve it - which was rather embarrassing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Don't walk around staring up at buildings admiring the architecture. It's true what they say about Paris and dog <em>merde</em>! Keep your eyes on the ground.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When viewing apartments for the first time, if the landlord says, "it's very quiet here", he is lying. I have a sideways neighbour who plays the piano (well) which is acceptable, but an upstairs neighbour who clops around in hobnailed boots on bare wooden floors which isn't. But I've found a solution - leave the extractor fan on in the bathroom to create white noise (which I'm used to at home with the sound of the river) and drown out everything else. Sorted.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have my first lesson tomorrow morning. My school bag is packed (with a <strong><em>tarte tatin</em></strong> for the teacher!), my uniform ironed - and I'm just a little bit nervous.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-87693352538801761472010-03-19T16:10:00.000-07:002010-03-19T16:32:43.097-07:00Groundhog Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyc90FmrFmci_FCl08uWpBPgBVejakb_2TcXPxjT1dxNeq9Uf6xvOJWwGDGrpcSwh9VrgRULFpX4FgKQ-J1irK6PzJ-8KJpzV9I4RJftPgJb1aVqZL91l3el7infSl81tV5hsom3VcHZjw/s1600-h/snowdrops.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyc90FmrFmci_FCl08uWpBPgBVejakb_2TcXPxjT1dxNeq9Uf6xvOJWwGDGrpcSwh9VrgRULFpX4FgKQ-J1irK6PzJ-8KJpzV9I4RJftPgJb1aVqZL91l3el7infSl81tV5hsom3VcHZjw/s400/snowdrops.JPG" vt="true" width="300" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It's 2 a.m. and I can't sleep. Strewth - it's Groundhog Day!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We're off on the train to Paris in the morning. BB's coming with me because he thinks I'll have trouble getting the WiFi and the telly to work in my studio (duh!) but I'm happy to play along because I need him to carry my bags after I knackered my back at step class on Monday! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggwHNI7Ltr4YHHd7lYQtyvpYVzYPULLTe4ASvsvuqlTMN5NpK-i-cXlW_zcZn5kBm1a3BzR0OpXRHyHRHcbEKqOgWcoNaPqirLXOmO3F4Nq9NxsYd3hSR7wb76009Si9yYkg81ryCSDxMo/s1600-h/primroses+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggwHNI7Ltr4YHHd7lYQtyvpYVzYPULLTe4ASvsvuqlTMN5NpK-i-cXlW_zcZn5kBm1a3BzR0OpXRHyHRHcbEKqOgWcoNaPqirLXOmO3F4Nq9NxsYd3hSR7wb76009Si9yYkg81ryCSDxMo/s400/primroses+3.JPG" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
But seriously, I'm glad he's coming with me, to help shoe me in to my new (albeit brief) life in Paris. It's a huge comfort.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">School starts on Monday - so until then.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">P.S. I made a chicken and sweetcorn pie for lunch today which BB said tasted like <strong><em>a pile of cack!</em></strong> (a bit uncharitable I thought!), so instead of the unsavoury cack pie, here are some pictures of fragrant spring flowers from my garden.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9upZ43VUJzRjyHs7BStUsggWQ7nm_Q9jjK6SLcTAVFDzdiwqO8S-1Uo4Aqhsy-IcpBWlS5h1YfcGnYLPAIAq4UR2iSzfzEFflGNofnbv-yk_jFJqNEhhBRrRnell8dyjIMDnSA8URlXr/s1600-h/snowdrops+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9upZ43VUJzRjyHs7BStUsggWQ7nm_Q9jjK6SLcTAVFDzdiwqO8S-1Uo4Aqhsy-IcpBWlS5h1YfcGnYLPAIAq4UR2iSzfzEFflGNofnbv-yk_jFJqNEhhBRrRnell8dyjIMDnSA8URlXr/s400/snowdrops+3.JPG" vt="true" width="267" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-34491888110730777422010-03-17T08:10:00.000-07:002010-03-27T14:34:43.992-07:00the cat is a hat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6Mg5fk0lA9SgXoXuLerSIbjMn9uVU7Sg5AZ4g9N_CWUd6xiULZ1xXm0QKLCoDZmKY-fUFT2BPBBm6DpoM6JcpfYUCFieM543eE0PPJaYYWblZKlD38fElIfNvIUZJTpNfWO5QQgN-Hu3/s1600-h/raw+green+beans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6Mg5fk0lA9SgXoXuLerSIbjMn9uVU7Sg5AZ4g9N_CWUd6xiULZ1xXm0QKLCoDZmKY-fUFT2BPBBm6DpoM6JcpfYUCFieM543eE0PPJaYYWblZKlD38fElIfNvIUZJTpNfWO5QQgN-Hu3/s400/raw+green+beans.JPG" vt="true" width="300" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">It's 2 a.m. and I can't sleep so I've just extracted myself from a cat sandwich and come downstairs to write. The cats aren't allowed in the bedroom (BB's rule) but occasionally I accidentally on purpose leave the door open and as soon as they don't hear it closing, all three shoot up the stairs like rats up a drainpipe and assume their positions on the bed. Always the same positions - all three giving BB a wide berth. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">If I've just washed my hair before going to bed, <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2009/08/princess-and-pea.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">Loti</span></a> lies on my head with her face buried in my hair - but only if it's just been washed. She's fussy that way. Otherwise she lies at my feet. (And when I say <strong>on</strong> my head, I mean literally <strong>on</strong> my head, like a hat. Once I sat up and she was attached, gripping on with her claws to stay on board - which smarted a bit - and nearly broke my neck as she's quite a big girl.) The other two take port and starboard, leaning in to achieve maximum body heat, making it impossible for me to turn over.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As I lay there, wedged in, staring up at the exposed beams, BB shouted out in his sleep: <strong><em>TWENTY FIVE KILOS! MINI-B!</em></strong> and fearing another one of his <a href="http://atasteofsavoie.blogspot.com/2009/12/sleeping-injuries-and-kidneys.html"><span style="color: #e69138;">somnattacks</span></a>, I decided to get up.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Only three days to departure.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We've been away a lot the last few days (hence my lack of blogging), visiting our 'winter' friends in Courchevel and Meribel for the last time this season and getting in as much skiing as possible.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The freezer is full to bursting with PC dinners, each one with a little<em> bon mot</em> scribbled on the lid. I know how BB operates - he will take the path of least bending down until he absolutely has to - so he'll start in the top freezer drawer (even if it contains 14 chicken curries - which it doesn't because I've mixed them all up for a bit of variety) and work his way down. Accordingly, the notes in the top drawer are gentle reminders such as: <strong><em>Remember to water the plants</em></strong> and <strong><em>Don't forget to feed Flippo</em></strong> (the goldfish) <strong><em>because he won't flip his bowl over to remind you like the cats do</em></strong>. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Then further down, round about drawer three and week six, they become slightly more pleading: <strong><em>PLEASE change the sheets</em></strong> and <strong><em>You REALLY OUGHT to hoover</em></strong> until finally, in the bottom drawer: <strong><em>Call an industrial cleaner NOW!</em></strong> and <strong><em>Buy new plants!</em></strong> and <strong><em>Replace Flippo!</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2EZ_BRCsDYbqO_LbdBETqXjT5Z_nQPJitUC-onPRtciTrWyoVkSvSb2xiS_vYyrR3owp9XpBL5NL_HZnpvJFp5UEjo4lL1GRyy8b5mbZ8c2Rn7YxW0Ffm-zquDwd052OCk2cqiskbmU5/s1600-h/green+beans.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2EZ_BRCsDYbqO_LbdBETqXjT5Z_nQPJitUC-onPRtciTrWyoVkSvSb2xiS_vYyrR3owp9XpBL5NL_HZnpvJFp5UEjo4lL1GRyy8b5mbZ8c2Rn7YxW0Ffm-zquDwd052OCk2cqiskbmU5/s320/green+beans.JPG" vt="true" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">To make space in the freezer I've had to use up all of last year's garden produce, including about 10 kilos of green beans. <strong>Green beans with mustard and garlic</strong> is a very tasty way to spice up the plain old French bean. For 4-6 people, place 1 lb/450 g French beans in boiling salted water and simmer until <em>al dente</em>. Drain and mix in 1-2 cloves of finely chopped garlic and 1 heaped tbsp of Dijon mustard and serve immediately.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2150416964438837891.post-20778244785958192010-03-10T14:56:00.000-08:002010-03-10T15:22:56.973-08:00country life<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-mB7A3b6lfDvwHt29HLP4xrQUWrRak-XSSgqzwKwXMb0Q-Xa1majot2UlbDXUO0MXJ9SMDOfeqaZaLwUjwHDZBrpImYDIUIJLPQIf68bcSUUhcS9zcf1IQiPDwTTrfeNF4RT421bxVEq/s1600-h/DSC00148.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-mB7A3b6lfDvwHt29HLP4xrQUWrRak-XSSgqzwKwXMb0Q-Xa1majot2UlbDXUO0MXJ9SMDOfeqaZaLwUjwHDZBrpImYDIUIJLPQIf68bcSUUhcS9zcf1IQiPDwTTrfeNF4RT421bxVEq/s400/DSC00148.JPG" vt="true" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">BB borrowed a scary bit of kit from Poire last week called a <strong>Spit Pulsa</strong> (a cordless nail gun that allows you to fix directly into concrete and steel without the need to drill, plug and screw), to nail plasterboard rails to the concrete floor in the new house. I won't bore you with the finer details of its workings except to say that it involves a gas cartridge, a combustion chamber, sparks and explosions - oh, and nails, obviously. Just reading all those words in the same sentence makes me want to call an ambulance.<br />
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BB is using the 'shotgun' version which takes ¾ inch nails, but the other week, a roofer we know was using the 'bazooka' version (for 6 inch nails) and when he tried to nail a rafter to a purlin (a piece of wood to another piece of wood basically) the nail hit something hard, deflected and went right through his knee, impaling him to the roof!<br />
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I've mentioned this before, about the dangers of living in the country, about the accidents with circular saws and axes and forestry equipment - and then just this week, three houses in our village burned down after a chimney caught fire. Thankfully, no-one was injured, but what a horrendous thing to happen!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Life in the country - in our country village anyway - isn't quite the tranquil pastoral image exuding from the glossy pages of <strong><em>Country Living</em></strong> magazine. Paris will seem like a trip to Disneyland in comparison.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04288213616566484611noreply@blogger.com8