café expres, a perfect date

One of my favorite things about being in Paris is the wonderful tradition of café expres (espresso). You can pop in any old place, sit with Romance at the bar, stare at fabulous people and cool your elbows on the smooth marble countertop, while you sip a little cupful of rich, fragrant coffee. It's a very romantic, European thing—to be so grandiose, so spontaneous—to make such an event of drinking a thimble-full of anything. That anybody can accomplish such a stylish, nostalgic moment for less than $2 makes it that much more appealing.

Lately, Colin and I have been making a habit—albeit spontaneous—of popping into cafes for a little restoration. In Burlington on Church Street, there are at least two good places I can think where you can experience the inexpensive luxury of espresso, elevated to an art form. But all you really need is a bar, a good atmosphere, and of course an espresso machine (there are some really wonderful restaurants in town that, sadly, do not have one).

Lake Champlain Chocolates is perfect, because not only do they serve espresso, but they also sell what is, in my mind, the best chocolate around. The two really go hand in hand (that's why in Paris and elsewhere, they always serve espresso with a chocolate-covered coffee bean or almond). It takes the edge off the dark Arabica brew. Lake Champlain Chocolates has a little bar where you can sit and enjoy your moment while watching the passersby on the street. Colin and I dropped in the other day while we were out running errands and ordered two espressos and one square of dark chocolate (to share). The entire thing cost around five dollars, but it felt much more extravagant than that.

I know I talk about Leunig's Bistro a lot, but I can't help it. We love to eat there. And while it's true that you can get a little over-the-top with the menu, some of my favorite moments there have been the simple and spontaneous ones, sitting at the bar, with just a glass of wine and Vermont cheese plate. You could just linger there all night and really feel like a neighborhood regular by the end of it (for under $10 a person). Last night, we stopped in before a movie date for some espresso and one of their amazing maple creme brulees to share—it's the best creme brulee in town, and I'm an expert.

I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I just felt very good when I remembered these two moments. They reminded me of other espresso moments. I love that these moments are at the same time economical, romantic, and memorable. What more could you ask for in a date?

extreme pleasures

By Emma H. W. Kouri


I’ve never liked the idea of extremism. Actually, people with extreme views really turn me off. Extreme religion, extreme lifestyle, extreme political views… it’s all so extreme!

Because I live in America, I am constantly exposed to extremism. In America, extreme is the way to go. And as an American, you must try to reach your goals via the most extremely efficient route possible.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not perfect. I am the first to admit that I get sucked in. I love being efficient, and my husband loves it too. I’m always on the search for the latest extremely cool thing, especially when it comes to luxury bath products, and make-up. I’ll call my sisters and tell them they have to try this or that, that it has really changed my life. Then 2 weeks later, I’ve forgotten about it.

Here’s another thing that I don’t like: obsessing about my weight and my body. We all do it, especially in America. Just to let you know, I am 5 foot 10 1/2 inches. I weigh between 140-145 pounds, and my size is a tall 4 or 6, depending on the brand. I’m in excellent shape, walk and run daily, and eat healthful food (I am an extremely loyal EatingWell fan). Why does someone like me obsess about my weight? Maybe it’s because I was chubby as a child and ridiculed for it. Maybe it’s because I’m addicted to People magazine so I constantly have an unattainable image in my head. I really don’t know what the reason is, but I am sick of it.

The two topics mentioned above can be combined together to form one of the other things I can’t stand: extreme dieting. Or extreme diet choices. What is this all about? Why does America love it so much? The Atkins diet, the liquid diets, the milkshake diet… I could go on forever. My girlfriend told me she is reading this new book, called Skinny Bitch, which informs the reader that they are not taking care of themselves if they are eating meat or drinking milk. So now my friend's eating lots of fish. Guess what would happen if we all did that? That’s right, there would be no fish left to eat.

This feeling of frustration with my own obsession and America’s obsession with dieting really came to a head this weekend. I was walking on Church Street with my husband, and we walked into Borders. I was browsing, and caught sight of a book: French Women Don’t Get Fat. For some reason, I picked it up and bought it. Kevin got a book too, and we went home and read together.

Only 70 pages in, and I’m hooked. Seriously, in 2 days, I have felt a total revolution and a huge weight lifted off my shoulders! Based on the philosophy of a French woman, I have come to realize that I need to love food (and I really do love food, especially good cheese and chocolate) and not hate it! What good food (not low-fat high-sugar loser foods, but the real foods) needs is to be respected—and relished. Embrace it, and embrace yourself. Take each bite slowly and seriously, and consider all the different textures that you feel and the flavors that you taste.

I immediately poured a glass of Le Freak, and made a cheese plate for my husband and me. I carefully took 1 Carr’s whole wheat cracker, and placed a slice of Cabot Private Stock Cheddar on top. Then, I placed on top of the cheese a small dollop of homemade hot pepper jelly (from Liz’s friend).

I sat down, and took a small bite. Closed my eyes, and chewed. It was orgasmic! Amazing! I’ve never tasted anything so outrageous. It took 4 bites to eat this cracker, and guess what? I didn’t want a second. Anyone who knows me will find this hard to believe. But it’s true, and I was more satisfied than I’ve ever been even after scarfing down 5 crackers with cheese.

My new-found approach can be illustrated with this: imagine that you have to drive somewhere, and you have a choice: interstate or back roads. The interstate will no doubt get you there faster, but the back roads will be filled with character, scenery, picturesque moments and maybe even a little meditation! This is what the French do when they eat. It is an experience, not a chore. It is a friend (or lover), not an enemy. Savor every moment, and you’ll find yourself only needing one bite of that cake, because one bite was enough to send you reeling into ecstasy. After a while, you’ll find yourself being more thoughtful while you eat, and automatically eating less. Then you won’t feel guilty afterwards. If you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself indulging in extreme pleasure every time you sit down for a meal.




Delectable fruit and cheese plate from Leunig's Bistro in Burlington, Vermont.

a cool and wet winter

Every month, I receive a welcome missive from my good friend Madeleine Vedel. Together she and her husband Erick run a cooking school in Provence, France. It is there I stayed for several months after college, and the memories from that time run deep and vivid in my mind.

The most recent missive in my mailbox talked about mushrooms and reminded me of when we went mushroom hunting during a stay in the gorgeous lush hills of the Cévennes mountains in Southern France. I was very homesick at the time, and the green, rolling forests reminded me very much of my home in Vermont.

At the end of an adventurous treasure hunt, I had found a total of 3 large cèpes (also known as porcinis). A proud moment! We brought them by the local pharmacy (to check for poisonous varieties) and then whisked them home to cook up a fabulous supper.

And here is Madeleine's letter...



When it rains... mushrooms come popping up! And Provence, a land of agriculture and outdoor beauty, soaks up the gentle bounty of the skies. The beekeeper is pleased for her bees, and the future rosemary honey; the farm next door is pleased as he'll not need to irrigate this winter (and nor should he! this is "normal" winter weather for us... but the past few years weren't too normal). Already the dark fields are sprouting tender green shoots of winter wheat.

Next week brings us our special week of winter decadence: truffles, foie gras, duck confit, chocolates, Chateauneuf-du-Pape wines... mmm I can't wait! We get our barbary ducks, well fattened from a farmer in the Southwest who raises them in a small, hands-on operation. Though for many, foie gras is not "politically-correct" I must admit to truly loving it -- in moderation. In my defense, I could mention that the Egyptians already enjoyed it thousands of years' ago, after noticing that both geese and ducks store extra energy in their livers in preparation for the long flight over the Mediterranean to their nesting grounds in France...

Of course, we'll also be liberally sprinkling our food with truffles -- those rough and funky lumps that our friend Rene's dog will find for us. We'll imbibe the potent aromas of this rare species in the cafe beside the market -- now smoke free!!! Yes, France has turned smoke-free in public spaces. Amazing, hm? T'will be interesting to see to what degree they abide by the new laws.

As we begin the year 2008, I treasure the memories of 2007, and all the wonderful visits of friends of friends, past clients and so many more. We were the happy beneficiaries of oodles of word of mouth contacts. Thank you! and please, feel free to share this email missive and your stories of your time with us with any and all. Provence is our home, and we love sharing it with you.

—Madeleine Vedel, Association Cuisine et Tradition, www.cuisineprovencale.com








Photos: Penelope, Madeleine and friends mushroom hunting in the Cévennes in Southern France, 2002.

figgy pudding

Sometimes things that are nourishing don't necessarily taste good—like cod liver oil or lima beans. I don't think I'll ever love those little buggers, and I don't care. But sometimes there are things that you don't like, but that you really want to like—because they're so cool—that you end up liking them eventually. Even if they still taste kind of yucky. You just crave them. Such is the case with me and Marmite. And figgy pudding.

Both foods have been passed down from my English roots. Our mummy has been making traditional figgy pudding every Christmas since we were kids. Made from lots of dried fruit and a little flour and Guinness to bind it, figgy pudding is really nothing more than a glorified fruit cake. And how many kids like fruit cake?

But then mold it in a mound, add a sprig of holly on top, a splash of Grand Marnier, light the whole thing on fire and you've got another thing altogether. A pyrotechnic site for sore eyes.

Since childhood, I've tried very hard to love it. I really, really wanted to crave the dark, rich dessert. But it was so bitter, the only way I could get it down was by drowning it in a sea of melty brandy butter. In fact, to this day, that's really only the way I can eat it. But I still really, really, really want to like it. To crave it like my parents do.

For now, at least I can still love the experience. This year, the lighting of the figgy pudding was so exciting. It was Colin's first time. We banged our forks on the table and sang, "Oh we want some figgy pudding, oh we want some figgy pudding, so bring it right now!" Papa poured some brandy on the pudd while Mummy stood by with the match. He was a little overzealous and spilled a heap of the precious Grand Marnier over the side of the dish and the tablecloth caught on fire! Then some of us screamed. And then we started laughing. And then it took forever for all of the alcohol to burn off. What a commotion. I think Kevin got it all on video—I'd really love to get my hands on that and post it here. But for now, here are a couple of photos (the second one was taken about 5 minutes later—usually the brandy burns off in 5 seconds):

gratitude

By Penelope Wall


For Americans especially, this particular week leading up to Thanksgiving is one in which nourishment is inextricably linked to the idea of gratitude. We give thanks for our bountiful feast and the bounty in our lives.

We should always be grateful, not just on Thanksgiving. But it's human nature, I think, to want to compartmentalize our rituals--and to say, for example, "On this day I'm going to be especially grateful," and "on that day I'm going to be especially loving." And to put marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes for just that one meal during the year.

What if we had marshmallows on top of our sweet potatoes all the time? For one, the dish wouldn't be special anymore. We might lose sight of its importance (do we know what the importance of marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is?). And, we might all become overweight, because marshmallows on top of sweet potatoes is certainly indulgent.

We reserve that wonderful treat for special occasions so that all of the other days may build up in anticipation. In other words, we give our symbolic moments strength by letting them shine just one day of the year.

And we like traditions to dictate how we spend our days and how we celebrate--with roast turkey, of course.

But in our family at Thanksgiving, turkey never really took center stage (my mother's English after all). Some years, we just couldn't afford it. Other years, one of us was vegetarian and it was tofurky or bust. Other years, we'd say, "let's just have fish!" And so, when I look back and take note of the common thread throughout the years, it wouldn't be the roast turkey or the marshmallows; it would have to be, well, the gratitude--ritualized by going around in a circle and saying out loud something we're thankful for.

If you really think about it though, what you're thankful for changes every day, every hour. What you're thankful for on Thanksgiving is really just a snap-shot in time. You might wake up thinking, "I'm grateful for the sunshine on my face." And you might go to bed that night thankful for the dark to woo you into slumber. Such is the fleeting nature of human emotion. Which is why, Thanksgiving is one holiday that doesn't really benefit from the build-up of anticipation. Rather, it should glow beneath the surface throughout our days.

And so in the spirit of gratitude every day, I want to say:

Right now, I'm thankful that I didn't hit the two deer that leaped right in front of my car on the drive home from work tonight. I'm thankful for the wild (alive) turkeys in my parents' yard (and they're thankful, I'm sure, for the tofurky). I'm thankful for Suki kneading my belly and Au Lait warming my feet. For the birds on the feeder and the entertaining squirrels. I'm thankful for all the creatures in this world that live beside us nourishing us quietly and perfectly in their own way.

provision from above

Though not traditional American fare, in England goose is saved for the most special occasions like Christmas or celebrations. Growing up, I remember singing the nursery rhyme that my mother taught us, "Christmas is a-coming and the goose is getting fat. Please put a penny in the old man's hat. If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do. If you haven't got a ha'penny, a farthing will do. If you haven't got a farthing, then God bless you!" But the closest we ever got to the real thing was running away from the mean, honking (alive) beasts at the Thorson's farm in Dorset, Vermont. We never actually had goose (farmed or wild) for Christmas. Perhaps this year will be different... though I'm not sure I'm quite there yet with my dad who can look up in the sky at the signature V-formation and think "dinner."



The Fall, my favorite time of year! One of the things that I love about it are the geese that fly over our house on the way to warmer climate.

It was on Saturday morning that we saw several flocks when I said to my wife Sally, (please don't be offended) “Wouldn't it be nice to have one of those on our table.”

Wouldn't you know it that that very evening my good friend Stewart presented me with two beautifully cleaned wild Canadian Goose breasts from geese that had been shot that very day. (They are huge.) We have put them in the freezer to save them for a special occasion. (Like maybe my birthday coming soon 11/6.) I will try this recipe.

For wild goose, it is best to soak the breasts in buttermilk for a day beforehand.

Goose Breast à l'Orange

Ingredients:
2 breasts of goose
1 pkg. dry onion soup mix
1 apple, sliced
2 cups water
2 tbsp. frozen orange juice (undiluted)

To make:
Fillet breasts. Place breasts on platter and cover with apple and orange. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight. Place apple, and orange and fillets in 1 1/2 quart oblong baking dish. Empty onion soup into dish; add water. Bake at 300 degrees for 2 hours. Serve with pan drippings. Serves 4.

—Larry Wall, Newport, Vermont

cuisine & tradition

This time of year always reminds me of Arles, an ancient town in Southern France, where I was an au pair girl for several months after college. I lived with a culinary family—an Arlesien father and an American mother named Madeleine—who runs a cooking school there specializing in the ancient foods of the region. I was there in the fall and early winter. I was there for mushroom hunting and truffle season. I was there for foie gras and fig nougat, olive harvest and Chateauneuf du Pâpe. Erick made a wonderful pâte de coing (quince patty) that's like a glorified fruit roll-up, only thick and chewy and we would cut it into ruby red squares and serve with a lovely sheep's tome from the nearby farm.

There were the luxurious chocolate truffles from Joel Durand, showcasing exotic regional flavors like lavender, chestnut, honey, and basil. And there was so much more. When there were students there were six-course meals. When there were none we ate up the leftovers of magret de canard, smoked salmon, and milles feuilles. We'd spread foie gras on our toast for breakfast. It was beyond nourishment at times and bordered on excess. But that was the nature of the business. And I was lucky enough to plunge into this crash course of French cuisine and Provencale culture.

Madeleine and I still stay in touch. And at the beginning of each new season, I enjoy receiving her e-mail missives describing all of the lovely goodies they're finding at market right now (Arles has one of the largest outdoor markets in France that wraps around the main boulevard right outside the city walls), what their friends and farmers and artisans are up to, and of course what's cooking in the kitchen. Below is an excerpt from one of my favorites called "Early Winter in Provence."

I'm baking more bread with my lively starter that's been bubbling since last March. Sometimes I pour in some muesli, sometimes some leftover spelt berries, a bit of chopped dried apricots. As the whim takes me. Hot cocoa and hot honey laced tea for breakfast, a rich red wine for dinner. Warm soups of every possible winter root vegetable are a weekly event (that is, I make enough to savor each one for a week!) Rutabaga, parsnips (ooh I love these!), turnips, squash, leeks, potatoes... often these are enriched with a bit of broth I've culled from a duck carcass, or rabbit bones.

The French see this time of year as chocolate weather. As we begin our preparations for the season many Christmas fairs are sprouting up, and chocolate stands with dark rich truffles, fruit puree laced ganaches and more are always a prime feature. The weather is ideal -- though a bit less humidity would be better. And with the lessening daylight hours, a bit of extra magnesium just feels good. Time to sample that black currant ganache recipe we learned from the chocolate maker... perhaps as a filling in my buche de Noel? (I've put this recipe below. Enjoy!)

We're also feeling the need for a bit more nourishment -- a bit of foie gras perhaps? Rich for some, forbidden fruit for others, the French see it as a seasonal delight. Now through the New Year's is a time for a bit of indulgence. Mistakenly (if happily so) I enjoyed a bit of foie gras during my two pregnancies, thinking "ah, extra iron." Ah well, whatever excuse is necessary. And yes, I too have adopted this winter "habit."

Cassis/Black Currant Ganache

This recipe is straight from the chocolate maker with only minor adjustments on my part. All the measurements are in grams, so rather than cups or other utensils, you'll only need a gram scale, a sauce pan, a sturdy knife for chopping the chocolate, and a large bowl with a whisk for mixing. To use this recipe in a cake, let sit for a half hour or so at room temperature (or table to cool quickly) and then spread on your cake. Let set before putting on your second layer, or, before rolling in the case of a log cake.

Ingredients:
240 grams black currant purée
40 grams sugar
4 grams pectin
100 grams sugar
125 grams UHT heavy cream

To make:
Boil all the above ingredients together then pour over in batches:

500 grams dark chocolate (55% or more) couverture - chopped finely
125 grams milk chocolate couverture - chopped finely

After the mixture is fully incorporated, and reduced in temperature, add the 125 grams creme de cassis liquor.

You can table this mixture to cool it, and then pour it into a square mold to set over night, or for 36 hours. Till ready to cut and dip in dark chocolate.

Take care, and our best to you.

—Madeleine Vedel, Association Cuisine et Tradition, www.cuisineprovencale.com