Reason for the Delay...

I haven't forgotten about the blog. And no this isn't the first of a couple fizz-out blog posts where I'm trying to hang on to the blogging dream but I slowly let it go because I forget about it. I have reasons for not posting - none of which prohibited me from writing something but simply distracted me from doing so. Here are my reasons:
1. Got engaged. Readers whoever you are know this because you read my last post. I've been in a state of bliss since.
2. Started a new internship. And really loving it. Haven't looked at the clock once since I've been working there (honeymoon period... I know... but it's actually very stimulating). They couldn't have found someone to help them out who is better fit for the position than I am... that's just a fact.
3. I've actually had plans almost every night after work and on the weekends catching up with friends/family since I've been back... which is odd for me as I have been used to being idle living in a foreign country with people speaking crazy languages around me.
4. I really haven't cooked that much.

The last reason is just crazy... but I really haven't cooked that much since I've been home. I enjoy hanging out and letting other people cook for me occasionally and it's been one of those stretches.

But just wait... a new blog post will surely happen after these next few days... I'm dog-sitting for a GORILLA-SIZED dog that belongs to my boss... it'll be fun and there will definitely be something to write about.

Engagement Post

I recently became engaged. And very fitting for me (and this blog), the engagement ceremonies included a post-decision smorgasbord of breakfast at Lou's in Hanover, New Hampshire. I do not know why anyone reading would end up in Hanover, New Hampshire, but if you do, go to Lou's. It just makes you feel good. It's a classic diner in all the sense... waitresses ripping cigarettes between orders, coffee burnt to hell and served by the gallon, the bar filled with cops and workers escaping the cold for a cup of burnt Joe, and most importantly, good old-fashioned oily buttery breakfast food. And when I was thinking about HOW to pop the question to the old lady, all of my ideas included breakfast, and strangely, diners. I ended up including New Hampshire Lou's as the final choice, but there was one other option.

The fiancee and I were really good friends before we started dating. Met in college, hung out all the time, got along great, and remained friends for over a year. Then we decided to take a "friendly" trip to Rhode Island to visit one of my friends at Brown University in Providence. The car ride felt different, the drinking games with my buddy felt different, and after only a day, it was clear that this little road trip was causing a bit of an upheaval in our traditional friendship. The last day of the road trip, we were staying in Newport, Rhode Island at the fiancee's family home. We woke up, walked down the street to Gary's - a phenomenal low-key diner in the often pretentious Newport. What I loved about that breakfast and what I always love about Gary's is that you can walk in and see a completely different side of Newport... not the sailboats/cocktail parties/Jazz festival side of Newport, but the "I've lived here for 50 years and I live here year-round" side of Newport. To be clear, I'm not HATING on either side of Newport... one of the reasons I love Newport is that you get both doses of life here... you get the ultra-wealthy eating a fish sandwich next to the fisherman himself... and they get along. What I'm trying to explain is the ambiance of places like Gary's, which exist in some form in all small towns. I love that when you walk in, you can wear whatever you want and it's OK. I love that the waitress looks at you strangely when you have to look at the menu as if you didn't know what you were going to order before you walked in. I love that it's cheap.

But getting back to the story, we ate a fantastic breakfast together at Gary's alone (I had a Western Omelet Sandwich... will never forget that) and then walked back up the hill to the house and lounged around watching "In Her Shoes" with Cameron Diaz for the rest of the morning. I don't know if it was the delicious breakfast, Cameron Diaz's phenomenal "acting," or the change in vibe of our relationship, but for the entire movie I felt as if all of what had happened that day was right. The girl I was with wanted to go to Gary's and eat diner food, she wanted to watch a terrible movie and waste the morning away, and she wanted to lay down on my lap even though we were "friends." It was that morning that I will always remember being the time where I knew this "friend" was a friend no longer. And she knew it too.

So my other engagement idea was re-creating that entire morning - breakfast at Gary's, a viewing of "In Her Shoes," and the subsequent proposal. However, living in Paris and only being in the United States briefly threw a wrinkle into that idea. I wasn't going to be able to make it to Newport with her any time soon... not possible. And I didn't want to wait any more. And the romantic in me who had thought about this day for years was struggling with this reality - wait for the Gary's proposal or think of something new. Just as I was getting really frustrated, something perfect happened. My fiancee's mother offered me HER mother's engagement ring to give to her daughter. I am not big into material goods, and the whole engagement ring idea was a little difficult for me... but this was perfect. I was extremely honored that her mother felt strongly enough to make such a gesture, and I knew what I needed to do. Luckily, we were headed to spend some time after Thanksgiving in New Hampshire where the fiancee's mother and grandmother lived for years... and where the ring spent most of its days. I decided to merge my two engagement ideas. We drove to my fiancee's grandmother's house, I asked her to marry me on the street in front of the house with snow on the ground everywhere. I told her that I was marrying her, but also marrying her family. I told her that there is no part of her that I don't love, there is no part of her family that I don't love, and to honor that commitment with her grandmother's ring makes perfect sense. And then we went to Lou's Diner in downtown Hanover to celebrate, Newport Gary's style.

I never thought about proposing this way, and the Rom-Com watching sap in me thought of a million other ways. But when someone offers something to you that personal, and when you love someone so much that you don't want to wait any longer, you create your Gary's proposal no matter where you are. And now we have a new diner with a new story to add to Gary's... and it's even better than the first one.

*I had a Southwestern Breakfast Quesadilla at Lou's... chorizo, cojita cheese... delicious.*

You Can't Spell "Wait-Service" Without the "Wait"

Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuge pet peeve of mine: When people go to restaurants and are pissed when they have to wait for something. When you cook at home, you either microwave something and it tastes mediocre (or in the case of Hot Pockets it tastes like a pocket full of love), you cook something quick on the stove and it's uneventful, or you take some serious time to put together a COMPLETE meal and you are rewarded plentifully. Hopefully, when you go out to a restaurant where you are already going to pay more than you would for a home-cooked meal (most of the time), you would wish the staff to prepare something with a little effort. And for all of you people with absurd time-bending expectations, effort = time. I can not stand when someone orders an intricate dish (like a risotto for example) and then complains when it's been 25 minutes and their food hasn't arrived yet. Well, impatient diner, let me break it down for you. In a restaurant with 50 chairs (that's a small one), there are probably 2 or 3 people working the kitchen serving 50 people. Many times, they are preparing appetizers, entrees, and desserts fresh... if you are eating at a place worthy of respect. Your risotto takes about 15-20 minutes (if you're good) to cook just right from beginning to end, and it takes a lot of attention (i.e. stirring). In addition to that risotto, the cooks in the back have to simultaneously sear off some steaks for table 9, toss a salad for the health-conscious person who refuses to allow thyself any gastronomic pleasure, delicately fry some flounder for your buddy to the left, and do it all in a fashion that makes sure everything all comes out at the same time with some heat left in it. Thought of the day for you, impatient diner: The next time you can't focus for two minutes scrambling some eggs and watching bacon in the other pan, remember the 3 cooks that can make magic for 50 people at a time... It's ok if you have to wait a little bit... don't freak out... and if you're that hungry, eat a little snack before dinner (or lose some weight because you're probably over-indulgent... you're probably fat).

Moving on, in the second part of this post, I'm going to make an argument for the French way of service, where they intend on doing whatever they can to allow you to enjoy your evening privately, no matter how long it takes you to finish your mousse au chocolat. The biggest difference that I've noticed between American table service and French table service has to be the general protocol for the waiter-customer interaction. In the U.S., you are greeted by a host/hostess who promptly seats you or gives you a precise estimation of when your butt will be in a chair (and if they're wrong about that "15 minute wait", customer Rick, who works in Business, will be proud to express his discontent by belittling the high school hostess to prove to his wife who hates him that he is still manly in this world). In France, on the other hand, if you are told you must wait, you either get a drink at the bar or go outside and enjoy the fresh air because you realize other people might also want to dine at good restaurants... I know... a revelation. To make it simpler, I will do some comparison's (side-by-side) of the U.S. restaurant experience vs. the French restaurant experience.

U.S.A. - The server seats you and immediately asks for your drink orders

FRANCE - You are seated and aren't spoken to for the next 10 minutes so you can get settled in

U.S.A. - The server explains the specials, which are always the most expensive things on the menu

FRANCE - The server explains in detail what is in-season and any significant recent changes to the menu

U.S.A. - The server knows the name of the restaurant

FRANCE - The server knows the name of every ingredient used in every dish on the menu, and knows the name of the butcher's son who carved up your skirt steak.

U.S.A. - The server returns every 3-4 minutes to "ask you how everything is going" as if you were at a constant risk of cardiac failure

FRANCE - The server waits until you make eye contact with them to even think about bothering you during your pleasant meal with friends or family

U.S.A. - The second you finish your last bite of mashed potatoes, a bus boy flies by in one motion and swipes up your plate

FRANCE - The server gives you more bread when you are finished eating so you can sop up the extra sauce you've been eating with your finger for the last 7 minutes

U.S.A. - The check is brought to you at any point during the meal... appetizer, entree, dessert

FRANCE - The check is only brought to you upon request... and even then, the server encourages you to stay and try something else... not because they want your money, but because they acknowledge your love of food

U.S.A. - The servers are paid off tips

FRANCE - The servers receive a livable wage NOT including tips

U.S.A. - The service industry is considered a lower-level profession

FRANCE - All professionals in the restaurant industry are highly-esteemed and respected

Which one do you think that I prefer??? Upon coming to France, some Americans might think that the waitstaff at restaurants in this country are inattentive and even rude. But that's just not true. There is an emphasis on allowing the diner to do exactly what they came to the restaurant to do: eat some delicious food, talk with their friends and family, and leave when they want to. The last thing I want when I'm catching up with friends during dinner is to have someone asking me if "I'm doing alright" every 5 minutes. American waitstaff, here's a tip: I'm doing alright if the people I'm with at the table haven't called 911.

Breaking it Down in H&M

I'll follow the long blog post with a short and sweet one about my experience at H&M Clothing Stores today. I set out to deposit some checks at the bank and soon found myself wandering around Rue de Rivoli. There is a lot of shopping on Rue de Rivoli, and I haven't historically been very attune to fashion, but today I found myself wanting to pick up some things to spruce up the closet.

The instant I decided to go on a mission to upgrade my fashion profile, I felt a strange sense of excitement. I darted into H&M and literally was hopping around the store grabbing things off the shelf left and right. I want to think I have a decent fashion sense as is, but I normally don't pick up cardigans and expensive jackets off the shelf to try on. Pitbull and Ne-Yo's "Give Me Everything" was bumping on high volume, and as I was trying on a more than bold light blue sweater, I actually drilled my elbow on the changing room wall in a furry of sick dance moves (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpqBAOpamJs). I then paused for about a second and a half, dropped down with a one-legged squat, and raised the roof to get myself back on track and back on beat. It was a blast... I ended up buying some pretty sweet clothes, made a few people laugh by dancing in public, and thoroughly enjoyed my night of shopping by just riding the positive energy surge.

This is making it into my food blog because the same sensation I got while trying on clothes today I get when I cook. It's fun. I have this weird sensation every time I go shopping in a grocery store when I'm with my girlfriend; I start bouncing around the aisles like a complete imbecile pointing to things that we need for the night's meal as if they were spectators in a crowd at my personal grocery store concert. I think it's an important thing to realize when you have these sort of energetic, uplifting sensations. I try to ride these as often as possible... just now as I am writing this post, I'm listening to Pitbull and I'm brought right back... I'm bbbbbbouncing in my chair and typing. "Excuse me... and I might drink a little more than I should tonight... and I might take you home with me if I could tonight... Tonight... "

Keeping the Goulash: A Tradition

Since today is a traditional day (It's my birthday), I feel like posting something relating to tradition... here's what I wrote on the plane home from Prague yesterday:

As I sit on the airplane writing this, my stomach still is in intestinal arrest. I'm pretty sure that it isn't angry at me, it is just a little tired from this last weekend in Prague, Czech Republic. I took this trip to Prague because of the European Baseball Coaches Association Convention. I'm all for professional development, and the convention was fantastic, but no coaches' speech was as good as the Czech food and beer I experienced each night. Let me tell you about it.

For those who don't know, Czech food is extremely dense and heavy... and each menu item is literally labeled in grams so you know exactly how much food you're receiving when you order. Typically, each Czech dish is an assortment of some cut of pork (or multiple cuts of pork... sometimes duck or goose), a few dumplings (usually made of potato or bread), sauerkraut, onions, and a rich dark sauce made from the remnants of all the cooked meat. And typically, you eat all of this with a few 0.5 liter dark or light-colored Czech beers, many times made in house or just down the street. There is not much variety between Czech restaurants, and the subtle differences between different breweries' beers make you want to walk all around the city trying to find the best one (side note: impossible to do). Yet, for some reason, when I was in Prague this weekend, I saw tourists filling up Italian restaurants and TGI Friday's every night. I'd like to give some of them the benefit of the doubt in that maybe after one entire week in Prague, tourists might want a little change from the traditional fare (not me... but I can understand... or at least make that observation). This brings me to my thesis for this post: When you're in a city that is known for a specific local cuisine that has been rooted in its culinary history for years, you need to eat that food often. And secondly, I really hope that these cuisines always stay to their traditional roots despite the fact that almost all culinary needs can be met in any country with the technology available currently.

Let's talk about eating locally, and moreover, choosing restaurant-specific menu items. First, if you are traveling in Miami, you better be eating Cuban food and fish... and then going to the beach and losing your mind in a ridiculous salsa dance. There's a reason Will Smith got so excited about Miami latin culture that he felt it necessary to include a salty lyric in one of his songs (“Welcome to Miami... Bienvenidos a Miami”... and Will Smith was/is the man while we're at it). Moving on, if you're in Memphis, you better be eating ribs and other barbecue, and then following that up with some whiskey shots and open mic performances. If you're in New England, go to Maine and eat a lobster roll, get off your butt and eat some pancakes with Vermont maple syrup, then head to Rhode Island and slurp up some chowder (clear broth or cream... who really cares it's all good). If you're in France, eat the cheese, drink the wine, yell at some people/be generally annoyed, and indulge on some beefy cuts of steak. If you're in Prague, find a good bowl of Goulash and drink a few beers in a crowded and rambunctious beer cave. IT'S JUST WHAT YOU DO. And if you don't do this, then why are you going all of these places? For the hotel WiFi? I didn't think so... and if you are going for the hotel WiFi, you either need to quit your job or see a mental health professional.

Going further, the same cuisine/environment specific approach needs to be taken when you're staying in your home town eating out at a local restaurant. My biggest pet peeve is when I invite someone to go to my favorite barbecue place (still up for debate between institutions in Key Largo, Charlotte, Portland OR, Washington DC, and Boston) and they order a burger or a Caesar salad. When ill-advised decisions like these are made in my presence, I literally feel like jumping across the table and pouring barbecue sauce on my guest(s)' head to remind them that they are in a barbecue establishment. What's worse, is when I'm enjoying my pulled pork sandwich and hush puppies and I get a remark about how my guest doesn't think the food is that impressive. OF COURSE IT'S NOT... YOU'RE EATING A SALAD AT A PLACE WHERE AN ENTIRE PIG IS ROASTING OVER AN OPEN FIRE WITH A SPIKE THROUGH ITS MOUTH... I DON'T THINK REX, WHOSE BEEN ROASTING PIGS SINCE THE EARLY 60's, IS THE SALAD TOSSING TYPE... NOT REALLY THE PLACE YOU ORDER A NICE BOWL OF GREENS, NANCY (Reference: Nancy is a name I use in general for people who I feel are missing the point in something... or just being unintelligent in general). You get my point, and if you don't, it's simple. Go to places that are known for something and stay in the realm of their specialty. And if you don't have that knowledge, just ask the server what you should get and they'll usually point you in the right direction.

Transitioning to my second mini-thesis (also can be referred to as a HYPOthesis), I am very scared that with all of the incredible advances in culinary technology, local cuisines will stray from their roots. It's a very controversial concept for me – this advancement in culinary popularity and technology. On the one hand, both home cooks and restauranteurs have an incredible wealth of resources available to them: the internet, the food network, ingredients from afar, artisan cookware, straight from the source meat, etc. On the other hand, people living close to the coast are no longer required to base their diet on fish, and people from Idaho can eat more than potatoes. My greatest fear is that my joy of regional eating will vanish because everyone everywhere will be cooking a new blended cuisine with no real identity. One positive of this situation is that the quality of food preparation in general will continue to rise without a doubt. The wealth of knowledge, resources, and general interest in cooking these days is steadily climbing (I didn't look up any statistics to prove that, but I'm pretty sure of it). But I want to make an argument for the little guys... for the Alsatian grandmother who whips up an outrageous Choucroute Garnie... for the Hawaii dad grilling some pineapple pork and macaroni salad... for anyone who actually cooks Naan in that big stone heat bowl... because I know that these guys make it better than anyone can in Iowa or Istanbul.

I'll leave you with a simple statement: Eat something Italian in Italy, ask your server what's good at your local Italian joint, and don't even think you can tell me that someone in your hometown can make better Cannelloni than someone from the Big Boot. Let's let the Italians keep doing that... because they're better than you.*

*DISCLAIMER – I'm not saying you shouldn't cook because you suck... I'm just saying you should respect those who can Party Rock Anthem Shuffle around you in the kitchen.

Mon Vieil Ami: Just Killing Dreams with Bad Sides

Last night I had a great meal in Paris. My absence on the blog front for the last 3 days can be explained by the presence of my girlfriend's parents here in town. They are the nicest people and they always treat me well, which now includes me crashing on their couch on the Ile de Saint Louis in the middle of Paris. Needless to say, I don't want to be a drag on the social vibe by blogging during happy hour. I woke up this morning and started writing this post because last night's dinner warranted some thoughts.

We had a fantastic dinner hier soir at a restaurant called Mon Vieil Ami. You could classify this place under a category of restaurants that are commonly referred to as "Neo-Bistros." Basically, these places serve the same traditional plates as classic bistros but with a little different culinary flair and a more "hiply" decorated dining room. I really like these places, and I really liked Mon Vieil Ami if it weren't for one seriously amateur after-thought: Farfalle pasta with wild mushrooms as a side dish for pintade (Guinea Hen). Ok, I'm not pulling a hypocritical move and ranting like a typical blogger about pretentious food preferences... here's my point: DON'T RUIN A GREAT MEAL BY FORGETTING OR HALF-ASSING YOUR SIDE DISH. All the best meals I have EVER eaten have had incredible sides to accompany the main course. What it seemed like Mon Vieil Ami did was rid their pantry of some over-bought inventory of pasta by throwing it on the plate with their very delicious pintade. But it ruined everything. I looked back on the website after dinner because I don't remember seeing pasta ANYWHERE on the online menu, and sure enough, what normally came with the pintade was a wild mushroom risotto... which makes sense with a white meat plate. French people don't typically eat pasta, and it showed in this side dish of Farfalle. Boo you Mon Vieil Ami. Boooooooooooo.

So now I'm going to leave you on a higher note with some ideas for side dishes to match great meals. I remember the first time I was really impressed by a side dish was when I ate a Locke Ober steakhouse in Boston. I ordered an unbelievably prepared piece of filet mignon, and the creamed spinach that came with it blew my socks off. The steak was charred and rare in the middle, and the spinach melted in my mouth just like the steak did. My point is... if I had eaten a side of canned corn with the steak, it wouldn't have been the same experience. For some guidance, here is a short list of great side items that I make pretty often:

1. With steak...

- Sauteed new or Yukon gold potatoes... boil them whole for about 10-12 minutes... in a separate pot, bring olive oil, butter, and fresh thyme up to a medium heat slowly. Cut the potatoes in half and brown them up a bit in the butter/oil/thyme mixture (about 2 minutes).

- Creamed Spinach

- Lightly fried plantains

- Caesar Salad with FRESHLY made Caesar dressing... with real anchovies... not hard to make... google it... stop being lazy... instead... be awesome... you can also settle for anchovy paste... do it.

2. With chicken...

- Risotto

- Mixed wild rice

- Oven-roasted green beans... bacon or proscuitto...

3. With fish...

-

Over-Herbed and Nestle Extremed

So what's great about this blog is that it's real. None of this “my perfectly seared steak was delicious but a little lacking on the ratio of herbs-to-butter in the basil-butter topping” bullshit. I'll leave those comments to the people who think people reading actually give a shit about their acute observations and experiences with basil on a sirloin. Attention pretentious bloggers: no one had the steak that you are writing about, and therefore, no one gives a shit if the restaurant over-herbed your piece of meat. My opinion? You should have “over-herbed” yourself a little bit before you went to the steak house so that you enjoyed your steak no matter how much basil was delicately melted into that compound butter.

Tonight's post is as real as it gets in a city with unreal food. I successfully moved for the second time in 2 days today to my final resting place for the duration of Year 1 in Paris (not to worry... Year 2 will be here soon). In celebration of this momentous occasion (not really, a friend just wanted an excuse for me to come over and crush some charcuterie and wine), I went to my friend's place to have a low-key evening with some good food and booze. In preparation for this evening, I sparsely ate during the day, munching on a fresh tomato and mozzarella salad with balsamic vinegar and then a demi-baguette with butter. In return, my day of sparse eating turned my night of casual drinking into an unexpected late night walk home of inebriation. And in comes the Nestle Extreme...

I was walking down the street after hopping off the subway and I felt a real impulse for an ice cream cone. This surprised me because I'm not usually an ice cream craving kind of guy. When I get cravings, they are more of the Casey's Place cheeseburger (holler Vero Beach) or Gray's Papaya hot dog variety (not really for Gray's Papaya... I just want to see if anyone from NYC comments because of that). Nonetheless, this time, I was craving some ice cream. I was only about 2 blocks from home and it was around 1 a.m. so I was a little worried about the accessibility of ice cream at this hour. And I wasn't about to walk any further to satisfy my craving. Sure enough, I saw an open-air storefront lit up with a GIGANTIC ice cream cooler out front. I deliberated for all of about 5 seconds, and picked out the ice cream like I often pick out wines – by the label. The Nestle Extreme proved to be the winner last night and it lived up to the hype of its name. I was EXTREME-ly satisfied.

My craving for an ice cream cone last night made me think of something that I often take for granted. The beauty of living in a huge city is that you can literally find whatever you want around the corner at any time of day or night. I've gotten used to doing things based on impulse, and being able to satisfy those impulses easily at a moments notice. In Paris in particular, if I have the urge to shred up a recently rotisseried chicken for a fresh chicken salad sandwich, I can find a whole bird on a stick no more than a 5 minute walk in ANY direction. If I want a normal macaron, or even an over-sized macaron, I can find both of those things in the same store... and that store probably also sells rotisserie chickens next door. If I want a filet of cod that was recently enjoying itself in the local icy waters, I can find one before news of its death has reached its extended fish family. OK, time to go buy a baguette downstairs... chances are, it came out of the oven about 10 minutes ago.

My Cambodian Roomate and the Pontoise-Lemoine Oasis

Like most my days here in the City of Lights, Tuesday November 1st threw me a few curveballs. Let's start with the 9 a.m. Cambodian man that walked into my room...

I recently was evicted from my first apartment (more like a room) because my 9 month lease was up. However, I still have 3 more weeks here before I head to DC for 2 months for the winter (after which I will return back to Paris for 2012). So, after being kicked out a day earlier than I expected, I packed up my things and frantically searched for a replacement room with all my bags (7 to be exact, some little, some big). Thankfully, I found another room for 3 weeks in a nearby building. All was great on Halloween... I settled in to my new room and watched Monte Carlo online. For your information, Monte Carlo is a movie starring Selena Gomez and in no way is this embarrassing for me to admit... rather these sort of movies tend to be the norm for me... I think it started with my days watching "Brink" and "Smart House" on the Disney Channel. But like I said, all was great on Halloween and then came All Saints' Day morning, November 1st.

At 9 a.m., for the second day in a row, I was surprised with a knock at my door. Today, who else came a knockin' but a nice Cambodian gentleman, telling me that he was my new roommate. At the age of 25 (almost 26... 13 days) with a working contract in Paris, I was under the impression my days of random roommates were over... but I guess not. So, like I always do, I gave him a big smile, rolled with it, and helped him bring his bags in the door. I would say that this is a crazy experience for me, but since I've been here, this one ranks somewhere in the middle of the list. So, to digest what had just happened, I decided to head out and do some errands in Paris and grab a bite to eat for lunch.

One of the errands on my list was depositing a check. My local HSBC Bank branch is on Blvd. Saint-Germain in the 5th arrondisement, just near the Seine. However, down towards my bank is an area a little less traveled by the Parisian tourist, as it is not as exciting as the bustling Rue de la Huchette where millions of tourist dollars are wasted on terrible food each year... Ahhh the Rue de la Huchette... But it looks so cute that Rue de la Huchette! And it sounds cool too! And there are scarfs and berets for sale too! (OBVIOUS NOTE OF SARCASM). Annnnnnnywho, my bank is down Blvd. Saint-Germain a bit in the eastern direction, and today reminded me of just how amazing this little section of the 5th arrondisement is for food. The area around my bank is what I like to call the Pontoise-Lemoine Oasis. Let's talk about the name first, then the restaurants.

It's called "The Oasis" because every time I try to go to the bank, it's closed. Either I'm there during the 3 hours in the middle of the day when it's closed for "lunch," or it's yet another holiday with no work of which I am unaware. Nevertheless, when the bank is closed, I am never upset because a short skip across the road leads me to the Pontoise-Lemoine Oasis = A square block between Rue Cardinal-Lemoine and Rue de Pontoise of 7 (and probably more) stupidly delicious food choices. Here's the list:

1. La Rotisserie de Beaujolais - it's the annex of La Tour D'Argent... cheap for lunch, amazing food. Just shut up and watch this video. http://www.larotisseriedubeaujolais.com/

2. Chez Rene - classic French bistro... waiters in the traditional dressed up fashion, food to match the show.

3. Les Pates Vivantes - Amazing Chinese cooking (an extension of the heavily-frequented 9th arrondisement location)... wide open kitchen almost in the middle of restaurant where you can see the chef work his magic.

4. and 5. Le Petit Pontoise (and Le Pontoise Aussi...) Both restaurants are the same owner... one is more expensive with a more extensive menu, one is cheaper and just as good... with a killer Bistro burger. The more expensive offers Ravioles Dauphinois as an appetizer, which makes you want to lie on the ground and snow angel in the restaurant... and then post-angel they blindside you with the main course of Asian-inspired Magret de Canard that makes you leave the restaurant because you don't feel worthy enough.

6. Itineraire - Class class class... old owners of a great seafood place in the 11th called Le Temps au Temps (still exists with different owners) opened up this place... expensive but delicious.

7. La Parisienne - simple boulangerie that has ridiculous chocolate chip and almond cookies for 1,20 euro.

Today, "The Oasis" proved yet again to be an inspiration, as I trudged to the bank, only to find it closed for the All Saints' Holiday. Not to worry, I quickly followed with a cigarette, walked into Les Pates Vivantes and ate a bowl of noodles with mustard greens, cilantro, celery, beef, and Chajiang sauce (I can't spell it but it tastes great), and then finished it off with a La Parisienne chocolate chip cookie. Followed that delicious black-out with a stroll along the Seine, and then went home to do some work at my neighborhood pub, Le Fleurus.

If you're not in Paris and you're reading this, I just feel bad for you.

The Best Crepe in Paris

I've set out to make this blog not entirely about food, but mostly about my relationship to cooking and how it affects my life. This next post, for most people, would be about the best crepe they've ever had in their lives. And for me, you will see that some of this post is about the best crepe I've ever had in my life. But additionally, you will see how that crepe lead to the immediate resentment of other people eating inferior crepes. Ok, here we go...

I'd heard of L'Avant Comptoir and the fabulous wine bar spread they have. I'd penciled it in as a place to go after watching it on Anthony Bourdain's special on Paris. However, when I arrived today at around 2 o'clock with a friend, it was packed. It also happened to be about 70 degrees and sunny in Paris on the 31st of October, so drinking at a wine bar inside was not as attractive as immediately thought. But then, boo-yah bitches: L'Avant Comptoir had a crepe take-out window. Now, typically in Paris, at every other one of the 700 crepe stands, you have your basic options of ham, cheese, egg, and maybe some veggies, along with the dessert crepe varieties. But at L'Avant Comptoir, the ingredient choices were off the chain: roasted red pepper, sun dried tomatoes, artichokes, rotisserie chicken, FILET OF BEEF, smoked and cured spanish ham, veal, and on and on. Most crepe places give you the choice of "cheese"... L'Avant Comptoir had 5 different cheese options. So, needless to say, my friend and I bought our crepes (mine filled with rotisserie chicken, artichokes, gruyere cheese, salt and pepper... simply because I was limited to 3 ingredients with the lunch special) and headed to Luxembourg Gardens to walk around for a while soaking in the day.

It was the best crepe I've had in my 8 months in this city... BY FAR. I immediately felt stupid for even telling people where to go to get a good crepe. Now, let's make it clear that I'm not hating on my Bretagne friends on Rue du Montparnasse, who serve up some damn good crepes in their own right. But they're traditional and delicious, which is great, but not the best. These crepes at L'Avant Comptoir, which for 6 euros come with a drink at lunch, make your head spin around. Buckwheat batter (essential for any REAL crepe) combined with actual ingredients make these things absurdly good. Most creperies believe that they can cut corners because they are a cheap take-away food category, but L'Avant elevates the take-away variety into a whole new stratosphere. Ok, you get it, they're good. Now comes the part where eating the best crepe in Paris ruined my afternoon.

After eating this delicious crepe, I found myself walking in a very crepe-heavy part of Paris... the Saint-Germain Saint-Michel HELL corridor where my Social Loathing Disorder is at its peak. To clarify, a friend and I have determined that we share SLD in common - that is, Social Loathing Disorder. SLD can rear its head in many forms, including something as trivial as simple social anxiety, to something as malicious as generally disliking someone you don't even know because they're eating the wrong crepe... and that's what happened today. As I was walking through the Hell corridor, I found myself judging people based on the fact that I knew they were eating an inferior crepe to mine. I was making sly remarks about how much of a jackass a guy was because I heard him mentioning how good the ham was in his crepe... which I knew was the same ham I had eaten countless time at other dogshit crepe stands. Much like the Chorizo incident, I felt like slapping all of the crepes out of everyone's hands like a ferocious game of arcade alligators... you remember, where you held the mallet and you had to whack the alligators on their heads before they got too close to you... ok maybe that was just in Florida. But seriously, the realization that everyone around me was eating a second-rate crepe legitimately ruined my afternoon... ok, not really, but it got me fired up for a little bit. And it led me to 2 reoccurring conclusions:

1. I'm extremely judgmental because just 2 hours previous, I could have very easily stopped for a quick bite of a now-average crepe and been one of those food-illiterate people, and...

2. I need to open up a restaurant or store-front that specializes in doing something simple, but taking it to a whole new unforeseen level.

What today taught me was that there really is nothing better than thinking you have tasted the best of something, only to taste something even better. This is how I feel about cuisine... I constantly think that I've had the best _______ of my life, and then I go somewhere better or make something better. It's why I keep doing it.

Cooking and Movie Scores

So I have realized, through obsessive introspection, that there are a few things that I really love (and I'm not referring to people here... I love you family and Maggie, but no one wants to read that). These are things that really give me an enormous sense of joy, and it's inexplicable, other than the fact that when it's happening it's very obvious to me.

2 of these things are best enjoyed together: Cooking a great meal and listening to film scores. Not many people know this about me, but I really enjoy composing my own scores as a hobby. These aren't for any movies or films in particular, but mostly, I write these and envision the type of scene that they would be a perfect accompaniment for. And it's very easy for me to write these bootleg mini-film scores because it's a truly organic process that happens like anything else organic - that is, they are created naturally. And I really believe the things that make us the happiest are the things that are organic in nature.

Ok, getting back to the cooking and film scores together. While I love writing film scores, listening to amazing musicians who score films for a living is just as much of a pleasure. Unlike any other sort of music, when I listen to a film score, it makes me lose my mind (literally). Again, difficult to explain, but it's the same feeling I get when I'm skiing in Montana, golfing alone, laying down with Maggie watching a movie, or drinking a great cup of coffee really early in the morning. On the contrary, when I'm cooking, my brain is on complete overload and I'm a bit of a maniac (think a quiet Gordon Ramsay). And I realized tonight why I think I love mixing those two worlds together.

Like with anything interesting in life, ups and downs and uncertainty make everything worthwhile. Listening to a great film score while moving around in the kitchen constantly brings me up and down... and I love it. One minute I'm frantically chopping some onions and the next minute I step back and I lose 2 minutes watching a steak sizzle in a pan while I'm lost in a great Rolfe Kent melody (Wedding Crashers - actually a great score, Up in the Air). One minute I can't remember what else to put in my bolognese sauce and then it's 4 minutes later and I've been leaning back on the counter drinking beer to a Rachel Portman tune.

If you're still confused about what I'm talking about, listen to the score in the background of this trailer. Ignore the trailer, listen to the music (except for One Republic at the end... don't listen to that). LISTEN TO THE SCORE... especially starting at 44seconds when it hits really hard... I get chills. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GU4qLmIXbOE

I don't know why I felt the need to write about cooking and listening to a specific genre of music. I think it's because I hope that other people lose time because they are startled and overcome by something simple. I know that I try and make myself feel this way pretty often, and it doesn't require anything more than some music or a good cup of coffee.

Beer and Spicy Peppers... Not Always a Great Combo

I think one of the reasons I like cooking so much is that I get to drink while I'm cooking, and it's completely ok because it's part of the whole act. So what if it is a beer at 9 in the morning while I'm frying some bacon. If you look down on me for that, I'll splash a little beer in the pan and boom: I can shove your judgments back into your face with a nice handful of my now famous beer bacon. Anywho, getting back to my original point, one of the small pleasures of cooking is taking a long time to prepare my food so that I can slowly sip on a tasty beverage and enjoy the process. That brings us to tonight.

I was making something very simple with some leftover ingredients - fried rice with eggs, scallions, shrimp, jalapenos, leftover ground lamb meat (which ended up being a genius idea accidentally), soy sauce, and some spices and whatnot. While I was preparing this little Lisa Ling meets George Stephanopoulos meal (please tell me you get that... just think a little bit if you don't... it's not a good joke but my fingers already typed it), I was drinking some ice cold 1664 beer. 1664 is a French beer, and it's not great, but when it's ice cold with the smell of soy sauce and jalapenos in the air, it tastes pretty damn good. So, I finished a few of those 1664s, munched on a little of my fried rice dish for dinner, and then found myself in a very common situation after having had a few beers: I had to pee.

So, because I pee all the time, I walked to the bathroom and relieved myself with great satisfaction... that satisfaction lasted all of about 45 seconds. As some of you have probably already guessed, what happened next was horrible. As I was zipping up and walking away from the bathroom, I started feeling a light stinging sensation. Now, if any other guys are like me, any sort of oddity other than the norm when it comes to your junk is extremely alarming and unwelcome. I tried to mentally discredit the stinging by convincing myself I must have nicked some skin with the zipper on the way up. But then, as paranoia set in, I realized what I'd done. In all my cooking and beer drinking glory, I had forgotten to wash my hands before I ate dinner... the same hands that had been handling the jalapeno. Just so you know, I'm a righty, so when I chop things for cooking, I hold the food in my left hand and chop with my right hand. Similarly, I'm a righty when it comes to peeing as well. But for some reason, tonight, I felt the need to be ambidextrous at the toilet. Well, that jalapeno I had cut just a short while before really taught me not to be so cocky when it comes to my urination technique. What followed for the next 30 minutes or so was just sheer hell. I've never been victim to an STD, and I'm glad because stinging on your junk aint no joke. About 15 minutes in, I even resorted to pouring milk on myself to stop the horror. Let me tell you, when you step back 2 minutes after pouring milk on your man parts, it makes the situation a little bit better for the second that you are laughing at yourself for doing such a thing. And it didn't work by the way... thanks milk for trying, but you don't always "do a body good."

Now, as I write this blog post, the stinging has subsided. I have leftover fried rice in the fridge and the experience almost made me want to just throw it all away if it weren't so damn delicious. And there's a little window into my brain; Even after this horrible stinging shenanigans of a situation, my heart still lies with the fried rice. I'll be eating it with a very long fork though.

Throwing Chorizo in Some Dude's Pasta Bowl

Bizarre example of generosity from me tonight... and I'm still trying to figure out why I did such a thing. I was whipping up a bit of chorizo, pickled (and then cooked) red onions, anaheim chili, and crushed grape tomatoes (higher sugar content and a good neutralizer to a chili) to top off a chicken sandwich I was making tonight. While I was whipping up this concoction, I wanted to utilize the community oven in my building for the half-cooked baguette I bought from the store earlier. Side note: half-cooked baguettes are genius because you buy them from someone who knows what they're doing, then all you have to do is fire them up for 8 minutes and you have almost-freshly made bread. So, I walked down the hall to fire up my baguette for the sandwich. As I was painfully waiting for 8 minutes, I saw a guy take a pre-cooked bowl of penne pasta, splash a little water on the noodles, and throw them in the microwave. He then proceeded to open up a room temperature jar of pasta sauce and poured it over the noodles. Now I really don't consider myself a food snob by any means, but the effort shown here was embarrassing. In my mind, it was like watching someone defecate in public, and then continue to shock the world by wiping their ass with their bare hand.

To clarify, I really don't think there is that much wrong with eating pasta and canned pasta sauce. But the combination of old plain pasta, canned pasta sauce (without any additives like mushrooms or onions... which you can buy in the can) and the fact that this all took place in Paris, France of all places, was too much for me to handle. For the love of God, couldn't this barbarian just saute up some garlic, onions, and carrots and throw those bad boys in there to spice it up a little... throw a dash of herbes de provence on top... you get the point. However, this guy didn't do that, so I felt the need to stop him.

Without saying a word to him during this entire observation, I intervened as he was walking out the door with his bowl of tasteless betrayal. I said, "Wait here... I'll be back."

He said, "Why?"

I said, "Because, just trust me." He didn't look convinced, and I was scared if I exited right then, he would actually go back to his room and eat the steaming bowl. I said, "I promise if you wait for one minute, it will be worth it."

He said, "Ok." I ran down the hall to my room, grabbed my simmering pan of slow cooking chorizo, onions, chili, and FRESH tomatoes, and even managed to snatch my shaker of oregano as it caught my eye on the way out. I walked back into the room to find the guy still standing there with his bowl, and without asking, I poured the mixture into his pasta bowl. Then I shook some oregano over the top, grabbed the bowl from his hands, and tossed it around a little bit (with some impressive flair for effect). Then I smiled and said, "Chorizo. That's the sausage that you are going to taste. You can buy it anywhere. Bon Appetit." I grabbed my bread (which was now done) and then I left. Not kidding.

I'm pretty sure that I changed that guy's life. Even if the pasta wasn't as epic as the dramatic pretenses under which is was created, he'll at least always remember the psychopath who felt the bizarre need to chorizo his pasta. And still, as I'm writing this, I really don't know why I did that. I've seen these sorts of things before... people boiling vegetables to oblivion, not searing meat on high enough heat, blah blah other culinary nightmares blah. But never have I felt such a need to throw chorizo in some dude's pasta bowl. And I'm still trying to figure out why tonight? Maybe starting this blog has something to do with it...

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Chorizo is a term encompassing several types of pork sausages originating from the Iberian Peninsula. Spanish Chorizo is seasoned with smoked pimenton (paprika) and salt.

Only Good Cooks Can Make Eggs

I know, right? The title of this post sounds sarcastic, but I'm completely serious. I think back to when I first started cooking, and I used to make eggs all the time. I thought I could make a pretty good omelette, and I even enjoyed making them for people to show off my new found talent. Wow. I really wish I could take back those first displays of my culinary prowess. Now I can really cook eggs, and I am ashamed that I thought I knew how to before.

If you think that scrambled eggs are scrambled eggs, and if you think the stuffings make a good omelette, then you are clearly naive, like I once was. Scrambled eggs done properly make you feel like you're eating a delicacy prepared carefully for a king, and a legit French omelette makes you never want to defile such a thing with stuffings of any kind, except maybe some parsley, chives, and chervil. Here are some of my personal notes on scrambled eggs, omelettes, and hard-boiled eggs, picked up from much better cooks than me.

Scrambled Eggs - You can't let scrambled eggs cook without touching them for even a second. Scrambled eggs are like risotto - they need constant stirring and painful attention to the amount of heat that's hitting them. Tip: when you think you've cooked the eggs enough, you're probably 30 seconds or 1 minute too late. The residual heat from the pan will continue cooking the eggs after they're off the heat, so prepare for that. And yes, you should get used to eating your eggs with a velvety finish... not watery, that's gross, velvety. To prevent watery eggs, don't add salt until the end... the salt tends to catalyze the breaking down of the egg enzymes. For extra velvet finish, add a dollop of creme fraiche at the end, or a huge nob of butter at the very beginning... or both.

Omelette - Like scrambled eggs, omelettes need constant attention. To be clear, omelette's are not frittatas, which can be left alone. Take this hint: start your omelette with a big hunk of butter in the pan fully melted... it prevents the egg from sticking and really makes the thing taste better... and you're eating eggs so it's healthy. By adding the butter and leaving out the unnecessary stuffings, you'll most likely be making something better for your health even with the added lard. To make sure the omelette evenly cooks without over cooking, shake the hell out of the pan so that every square centimeter of uncooked egg directly hits the surface of the pan for no more than 5-10 seconds. That's the key to a smooth omelette. Once every part of uncooked egg gets the 10 second heat rush, start maneuvering the omelette to its final shape. Best. Omelette. Ever.

Hard-Boiled Eggs - Simple 5-step process

1. Prick a tiny hole (like the smallest pin you can find) in the fat end of the egg (there is an air pocket there).

2. Drop the eggs in just under boiling water (a kind of low-roll/simmer-ishness)

3. Leave them for 10 minutes.

4. Transfer them to an ice bath... and let them chill in the ice bath (literally) for a while... don't be over eager.

5. Peel them and use them... the yolk should be darker in the very center and lighter as you move outwards... no sulfur or green should be seen in these eggs.

If you don't think about eggs this much, then now you know why you aren't writing a food blog... and now you know why you'll be asking me to cook for you soon.

Sauces... A few you should know

I got side-tracked reading the daily NY Times Dining & Wine section while I was drinking my morning coffee, so I decided to hold off on the breakfast. I'm making Steak Diane for lunch because it's quick and easy, and it has reminded me of something really important about what I think is essential for people to know about cooking: Sauces make your life easy and delicious. If you know how to make a few sauces, you can cook almost anything (vegetables, meat, fish, etc.) and make it more delicious by adding your choice of sauce. Here are a few of my favorites:

- Steak Diane pan sauce --> Onions, mushrooms, garlic, worcestershire, butter, dijon mustard, cognac, cream.

- Tikka Masala --> Onions, chili (your choice of spicy), ginger, garlic, chili powder, turmeric, garam masala, sugar, tomato puree, crushed tomatoes, mild yogurt

- Classic white --> butter, flower, milk... then add cheese if you want to make it really good

- Classic red --> onions, carrots, celery, tomato puree, crushed tomatoes, garlic, and really anything else you want... add some cream or yogurt to give it a little more richness... add some red wine if you want to make it bolder.

- White wine --> onions/mushrooms, butter, garlic, white wine, chicken stock

There are more, but I could make these 5 sauces different days of the week for every week of my life. Change them, add other things, omit other things, try different wines, different cheeses, different cook times, whatever. Put them on different meats, pastas, seafoods, vegetables, sandwiches, whatever. Always make sure you have a hunky basket of bread too because the best part of the meal will be after you're done and you use the bread to clean your plate of the sauce.

Exactly 2.5 Hours of Jacques Pepin

So... it only took 2.5 hours of Jacques PEPIN after my first ever "Mange" blog post to inspire me to write another one. No, this is not virgin-esque enthusiasm rearing its head in the form of an eager blogger... No, this is EXACTLY what happens to me daily (and apparently nightly). I was busy minding my business of finishing up my nightly emails, fresh off the inspiration of a newly-created blog, when I began to think about breakfast tomorrow morning. I've spent a ridiculous amount of money lately on eating out in Paris, so I quickly came to the conclusion that I wanted to make an in-house specialty. Would it be Gordon RAMSAY scrambled eggs with mushrooms and vined cherry tomatoes? My old friend Richard's Eggs Benny? Nope, I googled "french omelette preparation" to brush up on the technique and stumbled upon a quick video of Jacques PEPIN preparing a French omelette at the age of 75.

This guy is a beast. He cooks like I do, like only someone can who gets excited to beat an egg. He beats the shit out of the egg too. And then he pours it in the pan, shakes the pan like a maniac, carefully observing the edges of the cooking egg, and 45 seconds later produces an amazing omelette with no added color from improper cooking. Newsflash: If your omelettes have brown on them, the cook (or you) screwed it up.

Watching this guy cook at the age of 75 really proves to me that cooking is something that never gets old. People think it's so simple, and so mindless. But how could Jacques PEPIN grow up in a kitchen (his parents owned a restaurant), cook his whole life, master the art of cooking like few others, and continue to enjoy it well into his age of supposed retirement? Because cooking isn't simple, and it's not mindless. People who think that are lost to the craft of food preparation. To me, it's obvious that most people don't really "get" cooking. I'm just glad that I do... but I'm not glad that watching 75 year old men on my computer keeps me up until almost 3 in the morning.

12:07 a.m. 21-Oct-2011

The time I created the first of many Parisian-inspired food rantings. I know. It's been done before. But hopefully mine will be more interesting... and really, I don't care if it's not. I just want to have something to read later on when I carelessly forget my experience living in France.