It’s no secret that one of my favorite places in Paris is G. Detou. In fact, I depend on it so much, for everything from chocolate to vanilla—and lots, lots more. I’ve been quoted as saying that if G. Detou didn’t exist, I couldn’t live in Paris. It’s got everything I need.
Owner Benoît Bourloton is a busy man, spending his days keeping the shop well-stocked with a wide variety of French chocolates, as well as other delicacies. Since we’ve become friends (and what a friend to have!), I asked Benoît if I could stop by and discuss French chocolates, and he gladly invited me into the shop to talk about some of them.
I came back from my travels on book tour in the U.S. to a bounty of gorgeous summer produce in Paris. Strawberries, nectarines, apricots, and rhubarb were glowing at the markets and produce shops, and I’m excited to start baking with them.
Here are some of my summer fruit recipes that are favorites around here…
If you want to give summer fruits a glow-up, bake them over a layer of delectable almond cream, aka, frangipane, in this Summer Fruit Tart. It slices into beautiful wedges and the almond cream keeps the crust crisp. It works with many summer fruits. My favorite is to pair it with just one type of fruit and one type of berry. But you do you.
The nomenclature may be a bit “open to interpretation.” I’ve never seen a fruit tart called a galette in France. But if I went around tsk-tsking people (myself included) for calling a fruit tart a Summer Fruit Galette, I wouldn’t have time to bake…or really, do anything else. And who wants to be a spoilsport?
The word galette is, admittedly pretty, and so is this tart, or galette. (Or, er…crostata.) I’m making one this weekend since it’s easy to put together with a no-fail dough and doesn’t require a tart ring — all that’s needed are your favorite seasonal fruits.
Speaking of names, fruit desserts go by monikers such as grunts, crisps, crumbles, and slumps. I wasn’t the brightest student at school so can’t click off all the differences, but I do know what I like, and this Blueberry Buckle is one heckuva dessert. Imbibed with lemon syrup, it’s incredibly moist, so buckle up… make it, and you’ll find it’s one of the best ways to bake up summer blueberries.
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I took a cue from our friends in Germany, who are no slouches when it comes to baking, via my friend in Berlin, and like to bake up her Yeasted Plum Tart. One could argue (again!) that it’s close to a cake, but one could also argue that it has a press-in crust, which means no rolling, so it’s a draw. Either way, it’s a neat way to enjoy plums.
This Strawberry Rhubarb Tart marries tangy rhubarb with its natural partner, strawberries. For those who like not-too-sweet desserts, anything with rhubarb fits that bill. But I won’t say a word if you pair it with a sunny scoop of Lemon Verbena Ice Cream, or spoon liquor-spiked Sabayon alongside, as an accompaniment.
As Elijah Kelley sang in the musical Hairspray, the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice…
And the tumble of dark berries in this Black Berry Galette is both juicy and black. I used blackberries and cherries in the one above, but there’s no reason you can’tswap in blueberries, boysenberries, or if you’re lucky enough to get them, mulberries, which are the juiciest of all the blackest of berries.
Whenever we visit French friends in the countryside, even in the middle of summer, invariably there’s a bowl of apples in the kitchen. If you can’t resist apples either, this Apple-Blackberry Slab Pie, inspired by pie-whiz Cathy Barrow, is sure to please. While the combination of apples and berries might surprise you, I assure you, they’re a perfect match.
As anyone who’s asked me, “What’s your favorite________?” you know I don’t like to play favorites, but I’ll admit that some of my favorite fruits to bake with are fresh apricots. Raw, they’re sweet and juicy but when baked, the skins soften, making them tart and tangy. Under a layer of crunchy, almond-scented topping, this Apricot and Cherry Tart doesn’t need much embellishment, although Vanilla Ice Cream provides a sweet contrast to the assertive fruits in the tart.
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Mixed Berry Shortcakes are the things to prepare when you just can’t make up your mind which berries to use. This dessert proves that you can have it all. Top it off with a crispy-topped biscuit, soaked with a puddle of berry juices, and the whole shebang just screams summer.
When I was at Chez Panisse, a chefaccused us of not cooking, but shopping. Not sure if it was meant to be an insult, or what, but gathering the best ingredients and sometimes doing as little to them as possible are still my goals. Shopping is where it all begins.
We don’t get a lot of blueberries here in Paris, but in the south of France, I find them at the markets, locally grown, and I’ve never tasted better blueberries. This simple Blueberry Cobbler highlights these berries and is easy to make in a skillet, which is great since when I’m staying in someone else’s home on vacation, it’s rare to find just the right size cake pan or baking dish. And this cobbler is adaptable. The drop biscuits on top save you from rolling anything out, which is another reason this recipe is a keeper.
I’m not a fan of “You should”-ing people, but if you haven’t been to Ireland, you might consider going. When I was there, Irish cooking star Rachel Allen made this very tasty Plum-Rhubarb Crisp, a combination that I’d never considered. I should get back to Ireland more than I do, but I still dream about the lunch Rachel made for me, and the hearty Irish Brown Bread I learned to make while I was there. (Unfortunately due to Brexit, I can no longer get the extra-coarse Irish flour that makes the loaf so special. Maybe it’s time to make up and invite the UK back?)
If you want to call something “Texan,” you’d better be prepared to get an earful about it. So I went right to the source, Texas baker Rebecca Rather, baking up her Peach Cobbler. Texans sure like their desserts, and traditions, and if you want something equally all-American, my Peach Shortcake is another way to use a bounty of ripe peaches.
Sometimes you just want a simple dessert that doesn’t require anything more than tossing a few ingredients together and baking them. When that’s the case, theseHoney-Roasted Plums come to the rescue. They form their own sauce in the baking dish and are terrific paired with yogurt, fromage blanc, or a little crème fraîche.
When it comes to frozen fruit desserts, where fruits really shine are in sorbets, such as this Plum Sorbet, which doesn’t have a drop of milk or cream in it. But I assure you, you won’t miss them. This sorbet is smooth and creamy all by itself. I like to serve it with a compote of fresh berries and a few crisp cookies alongside, such as these extra-crisp, nutty Pains d’Amande or Italian Almond Cookies.
Here in Paris, what really gets me excited is when I see piles of cherries at the market. I get even more excited when I see griottes, sour cherries, which are rarities, and fragile, but are oh-so-good. Whether you find sweet or sour cherries, or a mix, all are good in my no-recipe Cherry Jam, which was even a hit (well, mostly…) with the “Recipe, please!” crowd.
I eventually caved and gave exact proportions for it. But if you’re not in a jam-making mood, check out this Cherry Compote, which I like to freeze in small portions, ready to defrost in the colder months. I enjoy serving it with a scoop of ice cream, such as Fresh-Ginger White Chocolate or Fig Leaf and Honey.
Another way to get a taste of summer the rest of the year — I make sure to have a few jars of Strawberry Jam to put on our breakfast table, which are very welcome, well after berry season is behind us.
Today the temperature hit 82ºF (28ºC), and I’m planning to serve glasses of Strawberry Spritz for upcoming apéro hours, a low-ABV refresher that is pretty much summer in a glass.
I’ve got some fresh strawberries infusing in white vermouth at the moment (I’m sure you could use frozen berries, too), which’ll be mixed with tonic water, a handful of ice, and some additional berries.
Book tours are lots of fun. It’s exciting meeting people, and in spite of the jet lag, and bleariness from sometimes getting up at 4am, you try to get in some good meals, too. Also important is getting fresh food, which we eat a lot of at home, but hard to do while on the road.
Thankfully, some wonderful folks brought me a beautiful basket of cherries and strawberries from the Berkeley Farmers’ Market while I was doing a booksigning nearby at Market Hall Foods, and I enjoyed the fruit as soon as I got home. (Thanks to the women who gave them to me!) I did also get a few gifts of chocolate, some more chocolate, and then, some more chocolate, which I guess is to be expected when you’re doing a tour for a chocolate book. 😊
My suitcase is already at capacity, even though I arrived with it half full. But it’s nice to see people enjoying the book, which has surpassed our (me and my publisher’s) expectations, as well as the venues selling the book. So thanks to everyone who bought or ordered a copy.
I signed a few hundred atOmnivore Books for people who came to say hi, and for others who ordered signed copies. If you ordered one, it should arrive shortly.
I did another event at Dandelion Chocolate in San Francisco. That sold out quickly since they could only seat so many people, but if you’re in San Francisco, do stop by. They do factory tours, teach classes, and have a chocolate salon where you can sip hot chocolate and enjoy delicious desserts made with their small-batch, single-origin chocolate. (Pro tip: Go for the S’more, if they have it on the menu.)
At Dandelion Chocolate
We had a wonderful turnout and enthusiastic crowd at Dandelion Chocolate, where pastry chef Stephen Durfee did a masterful job ofbaking and slicing Torta Divina, a rich chocolate cake that’s in The Great Book of Chocolate, adapted from author and baking instructor Nick Malgieri.
I had a really terrific time chatting with Stephen. (I want to call him “chef,” but he’s wearing a T-shirt, so I’m just going to go with Stephen.) We both talked about how the world of chocolate has greatly expanded since I wrote the first edition of the book and since the founding of Dandelion in 2010; the owners came to Paris and did a chocolate tour with me, then returned and started making chocolate.
While I can say that I didn’t have anything to do with their success, I’m glad they’ve been successful, and their chocolate is considered some of the best in the world. I did also mention how bean to bar has now become a thing in France as well, influenced by the American chocolate revolution, as chocolate specialist Chloé Doutre-Roussel dubbed it; they use the English term, bean to bar, in France.
On the road, especially with all the chocolate I’m eating, I make an effort to get as much fresh food as I can, whenever and wherever possible. I was happy to be staying near a greenmarket in San Francisco, and was relieved to see baskets and boxes of berries and other fruits and vegetables that came from local farms.
I know it’s triggering for some when I post pictures of strawberries that cost $7/basket, but since that’s what they cost in France — at least the good ones — I’m not stupefied. I also know that it takes a lot of work to grow, pick, and deliver berries, which are fragile, and I didn’t see any of the berry farmers pulling up in BMWs. All I know is that last year I spent over €80($93) on things that would repel the slugs that decimated our garden, including the peppers, basil, and tomatoes, so I’m fine paying for someone who succeeds in the battle against them.
Speaking of $$, I remember when the $4 toast was considered a harbinger of the downfall of San Francisco.
Now, that seems like a bargain. But one of my first stops in SF isThe Mill, where it’s become a custom for me to meet up with Heidi Swanson of 101 Cookbooks, one of the OG food blogs. Heidi moved to Los Angeles a few years ago, but lucky for me (and for San Francisco), she recently moved back. We caught up over avocado toast and talked about the difference between sunny SoCal and foggy San Francisco. As wistful as I am about San Francisco, the chilly fog that rolls in at night is a deal-breaker for me, moving back there.
The Mexican food scene has ramped up in Paris, partially thanks to my friend Carlos at Comer, which is excellent, but a lot of it still doesn’t match what you can get in California. I arrived rather late in San Francisco the first night and my friends who I was staying with saved me a burrito from El Castillito. Like bagels in New York, there’s an endless discussion about who makes the best Mission burrito in SF. I still rank Pancho Villa at the top. But I had many a burrito from El Castillito in my lifetime — at least in San Francisco — although nowadays, my French-trained tummy can only handle a half of one before I’m full.
Before my event at Market Hall Foods, I had what Diana Kennedy railed about: the Mexican combo platter, at Cactus Taqueria. The late Ms. Kennedy was famously prickly about, well…everything. I once spent a week with her and avoided her wrath but heard about it from others who were on the receiving end of it. However, I stopped caring what people thought of me, or what I ate, a few years ago, and am a lot happier. Besides, if I went around scolding people making non-authentic Niçoise salads or putting chicken on Caesar salads, I wouldn’t have time to write about all the delicious things I get to eat. And when you’re at the airport, or on book tour, a chicken Caesar often hits the spot.
Not sure what Madame Kennedy would have to say about Nopalito, but the crisp quesadilla with asparagus, brussels sprouts, and fresh epazote (above, right) was so good, I went back a second time to have it. Literally everything is good at Nopalito, including the tamal with soft masa filled with ancho-braised chicken, and the enchiladas de mole con pollo, chicken enchiladas with mole, above left. (Yes, there’s a mole recipe in my chocolate book, too.)
A few months ago I went to the Staub factory in France and met Belle English, who runs the test kitchen at Williams-Sonoma in San Francisco. I remember going into my firstWilliams-Sonoma store in San Francisco, which was on Sutter Street, where I saw such wonders as Duralex glasses, Le Creuset cookware, and curiosities like madeleine molds and tart rings from France. Chuck Williams introduced America to the food processor. It was a store for people who liked to cook, and I was fascinated by everything they carried.
So it was a pleasure to be in their gorgeous test kitchen, where I got to play with all the kitchen gadgets, and Belle and I made Bouchons together, from my chocolate book. As soon as they were cool enough to handle (actually, she ate one that was still a bit too warm…), dove into them.
I also stopped into Bitters and Bottles, a shop I discovered during Covid when I was doing Drinking French apéro hours on Instagram. When I wrote the book, I did a lot of checking around to see what French bottles were available in the U.S., and Bitters and Bottles had a stellar selection, including some that are hard to find, even in France. Interestingly, Americans seem to like many French apéritifs more than the French do!
I did see that after my visit, they’re offering a Drinking French box with seven of my favorite bottles, which are perfect for summer, including Cap Corse and Byrrh; these are especially good over ice or with a splash of tonic water and an orange slice for a refreshing spritz.
I loved my meal at Nari, above, and am looking forward to chef/owner Pim Techamuanvivit’s upcoming book, Cooking Thai, co-authored with . I got a sneak preview of it, and it’s not only a beautiful book, but very well-written, making the authentic Thai dishes approachable.
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I was sad to learn a few years back that one of my favorite dim sum places, Hong Kong Lounge II, had a fire and had closed. So it was nice to hear they reopened as HK Lounge Bistro in the unlikely neighborhood of South of Market. In my day, people used to hang out in that area late at night and into the morning hours, when they wanted to have some unrestrained fun, which sometimes involved restraints. Although you didn’t hear that from me…
I was thrilled to dig into a big platter of their beef chow fun, above, was still excellent, and had wok hei, the smoky char that rice noodles get from being wok-fried. That smokiness is a big part of the flavor of a good chow fun. Otherwise it’s just a big heap of noodles.
While they may not look all that good in the picture (above, right), I dreamed about their crisp tofu skins with shrimp. They weren’t quite as good as I remembered, but it was nice to have a big plate of pea shoots, above left. When Romain first tasted pea shoots, he asked the same question as I did: Why don’t we have those in Paris? I even memorized the words for them in Chinese, thinking they might be an “off-menu” item. But no, they don’t seem to exist in France. However, it’s hard to believe anyone could make them better than here.
After my event at Dandelion Chocolate, I met up with friends at The Morris. One of them was owner Paul Einbund, a major fan of, and expert on, Chartreuse. I did a video with him in his apartment, which is filled with bottles of Chartreuse, old and new, but Instagram seems to have buried all my videos somewhere (which is why I’m now doing them here). I started off with an Alaska cocktail. If you go, the Chartreuse Slushy is a must.
We share a whole smoked duck with root vegetables, which was generous enough to feed five of us. I’d filled up on chocolate cake before dinner — oops! That shocked Paul, but others who know me are used to it.
After dinner Paul brought out a special treat: Blueberry Chartreuse. In the 1970s, the monks who make Chartreuse tried to make it more popular, and had the idea to add fresh blueberry juice to it and bottle it. There’s also an orange version and Paul swears there was a raspberry one as well. They’re really hard to find, although one doesn’t drink them for the flavor since they didn’t age well. He called the taste “Flat Coke,” which was hard to dispute.Paul said in an article: “I would actively dissuade my guests from purchasing the late ’70s fruit Chartreuse bottlings.”
I woke up the next day feeling okay. The blueberry-flavored Chartreusedidn’t cause any harm. And I’m looking forward to the book on Chartreuse that Jordan Mackay wrote with Paul, which is the book that I wanted to do. But they know more than I do about the subject, although I’m happy to do more research on it. Maybe that’ll be my next book…and book tour?
When I told Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen that I was doing a complete revision of The Great Book of Chocolate, which included adding new recipes, she insisted that I include her Chocolate-Olive Oil Spread. For those who follow Deb know that when she says something is delicious and worth making, you not only listen, but in my case, you spread the word. No pun intended.
As luck would have it, Deb was recently in Paris so I invited her into my kitchen to make her Chocolate-Olive Oil Spread. As you can see in the video, not only is the recipe fun to make, but its very easy as well. And unlike store-bought spreads, you know exactly what’s in it. The only thing that’s a bit tricky is to get it to just the right consistency for spreading. But if I can do it, so can you.
Deb finishes the dark chocolate spread by leaving it on the counter at room temperature for a few hours, whereas in The Great Book of Chocolate, I’m a bit more impatient so I place it in the refrigerator until it reaches the right consistency, then transfer it to a jar. Because it has no dairy, it can be stored at room temperature.
After you make this spread, if you find that it’s too firm, a few seconds in the microwave will soften it just enough to make it spreadable. If you don’t have a microwave, you can warm the jar in a small saucepan of warm water. The temperature of your room can be a factor, and I did find that using a high-percentage chocolate — one that’s 70% or more cacao solids — will firm up more solidly than one that’s 50-55% cacao solids, which is what we used in the video.
Sometimes when I travel, people point me towards Michelin-starred restaurants. I’m not sure why, since (hopefully) that’s not the vibe I put out. I’ve sat through those meals and honestly, I’m just as happy having a slice of pepperoni pizza, an incredible bánh mi sandwich, or even something as simple as a bowl of shredded wheat; spooning up those little woven squares of whole wheat, floating in a bowl of cold milk, is a Proustian moment for me.
One thing I was especially craving when I arrived in New York City was an everything bagel. CDG airport in Paris can be confusing, something they plan to address in 2027, so hopefully when you’re looking for gate 4, you’ll find it between gates 3 and 5, rather than way on the other side of another terminal, which you need to take a shuttle to.
JFK airport is doing what CDG should do: a complete and total overhaul. My taxi driver was swearing all the way through the tangle of roads that led to my terminal in Paris, and even almost came to blows with another driver. I’m pretty much used to that from living in France for so long, but I admire that French people get over altercations quickly…c’est normal, whereas I hold them in forever.) At JFK, I waited 45 minutes for my suitcase at baggage claim, my Lyft took nearly 30 minutes to arrive, and the drive to Manhattan added another 95 minutes. So while I appreciate people asking me to come to their city, travel is certainly a challenge these days, to put it mildly.
I was staying just down the street from Apollo Bagels, which is one of those places that always has a line. Their website describes their bagels as having a “shattering crisp exterior,” which is certainly truth in advertising. The surfaces, both top and bottom, are embedded with a thick layer of “everything” seeds, and they’re not too thick or puffy. (My other faves are Russ & Daughters, but that would’ve been a longer hike from where I was staying and time was of the essence.)
Even though my flight arrived at 12:30pm, by the time I got there two minutes before closing time, at 4:58pm, they were out of bagels. Apologies to the person who tried to talk to me on the street as I was on the verge of hysteria, but getting a bagel was my priority.
The next morning I was up at 2:30am, thanks to the décalage horaire (or, le jet-lag, as we call it in my dual language home), and took care of the cavalcade of emails and messages that piled up in my absence. I got a bagel when Apollo at 7:01am, right as they opened, and topped it with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and capers. I know there’s no red onion on it — and to me, I save the tomatoes for summer salads — but travel means that you take what you can get. As a French friend once told me: On ne peut pas tout avoir, You can’t have it all. But that bagel was darned good.
One thing that Paris still lags on is dumplings. After catching up with a good friend who I worked with at Chez Panisse, over dim sum at Tim Ho Wan, I told her about the remarkable brownies at Hani’s, just a few blocks away.
You don’t know how good a brownie can be until you’ve had one at Hani’s. They’re hard to describe, but it’s like a solid block of the densest, darkest chocolate one can imagine. Even I can’t imagine it. You just need to experience it.
The line was long since it was Sunday, but Miro, the super-friendly baker and owner, was manning the door, smiling as he ushered people in, anxious for one of their awesome cinnamon buns or tahini-pistachio Rice Krispies treats, which are also unimaginably good.
One perk of being a baker is that we look out for each other, and Miro kindly stepped inside and emerged with a brownie for us, with a chocolate chip cookie as an added bonus, which was the size of a toddler’s head.
My friend is très exigeante, meaning she has a very discerning palate, and she was also swooning over the brownie (and cookie) that we wolfed down on the sidewalk.
On another day, my friend asked me what I was doing for lunch. She was out of town but recommended the bánh mi sandwich at Bánh Anh Em. When she described the housemade bread as “so light and crispy…it just kind of melts as you eat the sandwich,” I was sold. And another sandwich was sold. Thankfully, you can order online and pick up your sandwich at a designated time. I ordered the char-fired barbecued pork belly with pickled vegetables, hoisin sauce, and scallion oil, and I have to say, it was one of the best sandwiches I’ve had in my life. (Thanks, Susan!)
It was also huge and was so big that I had a hard time eating the whole thing, but I also had a hard time stopping.
Not too far away is Astor Wines & Spirits, a place I used as a reference when I was writing Drinking French to see what French spirits and apéritifs were available in the U.S. In spite of tariffs and other shipping issues, it’s nice to see that Astor still has a great selection of French spirits and apéritifs at drinkable prices. Some bottles were less expensive here, and easier to find, than they are in France.
Astor has elusive bottles like Bonal, Salers, Avèze, Byrrh Grand Quinquina, Bigallet China-China, an even-better replacement for Picon Amer (which is unavailable in the U.S.), and cherry-flavored Maurin Quina.
Other finds include Dola Dira, made in Burgundy, a lovely low-sugar, bitter red apéritif flavored with rhubarb and bitter oranges, as well as Bruto Americano from St. George Spirits in California, a better swap-out for brash Campari, plus a lineup of Brooklyn-born spirits from Faccia Brutto. I was tempted to bring a few bottles home, but I’m still working on the 200+ bottles I amassed while writing Drinking French. Cheers!
I normally avoid French restaurants and French bakeries when I’m traveling, since I live in France. True, there are great French restaurants and bakeries outside of France, for sure, but I don’t need a macaron in Taipei, and would prefer to drink sake over Sancerre when I’m in Tokyo. But a friend reserved at Marcel, the new restaurant in the Breuer building, a brutalist masterpiece in New York City, and I didn’t want to miss a chance not only to see my friend, but also to dine in that building.
The restaurant is helmed by French chef Marie-Aude Rose, who’s cooking elevated French food, dishes rooted in classic French cuisine, but updated and spiffed up, with stiffer prices. (Although prices are similar to what you’d pay at an elevated bistro in Paris nowadays.) Between the five of us, we shared two endive salads ($28 each) that came with apples, bacon, and Gruyère cheese, then had mains. I had a very good steak hachée à la française ($48), a pan-fried patty of ground beef over slices of potatoes, topped with a perfectly poached egg. The restaurant is not inexpensive but it’s located in a swanky part of town and you’re paying to eat in that fabulous space designed by Breuer. The food was well prepared and more filling than it is in France, thanks for rich, well-made sauces.
The dessert menu is divided into two parts, and the second part is called Les Grands. While the prices seem steep…
Half of the dessert menu at Marcel, the desserts that are meant to be shared
…they bring out a whole cake. As usual, everyone looked at me when it was time to order dessert, which happens…even though another guest at our table was a well-known pastry chef. The waiter had mentioned the soufflé needed to be ordered in advance, which I should have been more dynamic about ordering, but no one could decide, so we didn’t.
Instead we had this Paris-Brest, which was fabulous. Laced with a bit of black currant puree, it was filled with a rich caramelized hazelnut cream and was well worth it.
A must-stop for me in New York is Shukette. Even in the Middle East, I haven’t had food like this. That bottom dish is labneh with strawberries and basil oil, which sounds like a questionable idea. But wow — the strawberries on top were bright and slightly acidic, and melded perfectly with the rich labneh cream, along with a swirl of herby basil oil. I wasn’t thinking of ordering it, but , who I was dining with, added it to our order.
The spring pea dip was also a dream, with spring garlic and preserved lemon, and you can’t eat at Shukette without having a few things from the “Rip This” portion of the menu, which features housemade breads. The best was the frena, fluffy (yet crisp on the bottom) Moroccan bread topped with roasted garlic. Another, not shown, was lafa - a grilled flatbread liberally brushed with ramp butter.
There were also shawarma-spiced fries, toum (garlic spread), beet tzatziki, and tahini soft-serve ice cream for dessert, topped with halvah floss and pomegranate syrup. I don’t know how many recipes chef will be sharing in her upcoming book, Mediterranean All the Way, but I can’t wait to see it.
Speaking of books, while I can’t see everyone I want to when I come to New York - with apologies to Renato, Casey, , and , which makes me feel like a heel, I make time to seeSusan Friedland, who acquired and edited my first two cookbooks. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be writing cookbooks.
We met up at CheLi, and unlike everyone else I dine out with, she doesn’t reply to my asking what she wants to order with, “I don’t know, what do you want to order?” She knows what she wants, and she knows good food. She also spilled some tea when I had her on my podcast, talking the truth about the world of cookbook publishing:
So I let her guide us through the menu and she was pretty insistent we order the pork belly with quail eggs, shown above. It was excellent as were the dry-fried green beans, a necessity when you travel since you never want to miss a chance to get some vegetables into your diet. One cannot live by brownies and pork belly alone, although it certainly feels like I’m giving it a try.
Yesterday I met with friends, ramen master Ivan Orkin, and cookbook author J. J. Goode, at 100 Feast & Lounge for more dim sum, then I hoofed it up to Kitchen Arts & Letters to sign copies of my book for folks who pre-ordered, and left a stack of signed copies for those who come into the shop or order online.
I also stopped in Wild Sorrel Cookbooks, a new cookbook store in the East Village, then headed to Williams-Sonoma to do a signing at their store in Columbus Circle. Whew!
Baking bread is like alchemy, seeing something so delicious come of almost nothing, balanced delicately with the disappointment when it goes wrong for no discernible reason, but with Aran’s well-researched explanations, everyone can become a successful gluten-free baker. It’s written to help you succeed, suitable for all levels from beginner to expert, and is divided into eight logical chapters.
Alongside the groundbreaking recipes you’ll find equipment and technical explanations, pantry staples, instructions for making a starter and thoughtful ways to use the discard, and information on different flours, including how to mill your own at home. Aran also gives clear directions for buying psyllium husk and swapping out dairy, eggs, and different types of yeast (there’s even a yeast-free bread recipe).
I’ve so far made the Roscón de Reyes, popovers, soft pretzels, and vanilla-glazed donuts, and have a sourdough starter bubbling away happily. Although I’m handing David back his copy (admittedly with a few butter smudges - sorry!), I’ve already ordered my own to keep, and you can find yours here or in your local bookshop.
Open the book to any page and you will want to eat, so choosing just one project to share here was a challenge (Aran said the recipe she’s most proud of is the Danish). I eventually settled on pain de mie (pain means bread and mie refers to the soft interior crumb) because of its connection to France. It’s a square loaf that’s baked in a sealed pan to give it a thin crust and tight crumb. This bread is very popular for sandwiches and ideal for making croque-monsieur and croque-madame.
U.S. sorghum on the left and French sorghum on the right
Aran describes sorghum (the main ingredient) as “slightly sweet, wheat-y tasting and light yellow flour… grows well in the US, but it seems harder to find in parts of Europe” and suggests millet in its place if necessary. I found sorghum flour easily in France but it was quite dark, so my loaves came out looking slightly more rustic than the image in the cookbook. Then while traveling I found Bob’s Red Mill sorghum flour, which was a lighter color and baked very pleasing loaves.
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This recipe calls for a Pullman tin with a lid and I considered buying one but know I’ll use it once, lose the lid, and forever feel regret when opening the baking drawer. Instead I used a 9-inch (23cm) loaf tin and for my first bake MacGyvered a lid out of baking paper, a roasting tray, and a Le Creuset lid to weigh it down. This almost contained the bread into a rectangle and on the second try, I got it to behave. I also tried a version where I let it roam free with no lid and as promised by Aran in the notes, the crust was very slightly thicker and the crumb was less tight, but it was equally as delicious.
Unrestricted bread above and contained bread below. You can see the difference in the crumb tightness.
I used to be slapdash with baking but have learned that with gluten-free recipes, it pays to stick to them as precisely as possible (my heart sung when she presented the liquids by weight rather than volume), and I used my timer methodically at each step. It’s a long recipe (around three hours) but mostly done in 30-minute increments of waiting. While it takes patience to leave the bread in the cooling oven and then again on a wire rack for another half hour, these two steps had a noticeable effect on the finished structure of the loaf, exactly as promised in the instructions. Her writing may feel effortless, but it’s clear Arantakes recipe development seriously and has tested each one to the nth degree.
The first time I tried this recipe there were snowflakes dancing on the glass ceiling of our kitchen, so I allowed an extra 15 minutes proofing to make up for the cooler room temperature, but on regular weather days the dough was right on time at each step.
300 grams whole milk or oat milk, heated to 105°F (41°C)
40 grams honey or maple syrup
30 grams psyllium husk powder
280 grams sorghum flour
160 grams tapioca starch
100 grams potato starch
12 grams kosher salt
1 teaspoon (4g) baking powder
55 grams unsalted butter or vegan butter, at room temperature, plus more for greasing
Psyllium-yeast mixture: Sprinkle the yeast into a large bowl. Add the water, milk, and honey and whisk until dissolved. Let the mixture sit until frothy, about 10 minutes. Whisk in the psyllium. Let it gel for 5 minutes.
Make the dough: In a stand mixer, stir together the sorghum flour, tapioca starch, potato starch, salt, and baking powder. Add the psyllium-yeast mixture and the butter (cut into small cubes) to the dry ingredients. Snap on the dough hook and mix on medium-low speed until the dough comes together, 2 to 3 minutes. Make sure there is no loose flour under the dough ball. It will look quite wet but should hold together nicely and fall out in one big ball when you tip it onto the work surface.
Shape and proof the dough: Transfer the dough to a work surface and knead a few times to shape into a tight ball. Roll this ball into an oval shape that is about 8 inches (20cm) long. Grease the bottom and sides of a 9-inch (23cm) Pullman loaf pan as well as the underside part of the lid with butter. Place the dough inside, cover the pan with a kitchen towel, and leave at room temperature. Proof the dough until it almost reaches the top rim of the pan, about 30 minutes. Don’t let it go past the top of the pan or it can overproof and collapse while baking.
Preheat the oven: Position a rack in the bottom third of the oven and preheat to 425°F (220°C).
Bake the bread: Cover the Pullman pan with its lid. Bake for 30 minutes. Reduce the oven temperature to 375°F (190°C) and bake for a further 30 minutes. Turn the oven off and remove the lid, but leave the pan in the closed oven for another 30 minutes.
Cool the bread: Invert the bread onto a wire rack and let it cool for at least 30 minutes before cutting. If the edges cave slightly, don’t despair; even the bread in the cookbook photo has a slightly concave shape.
Cinnamon-Raisin Option: Add 1 1/2 teaspoons (4g) of cinnamon along with the dry ingredients when making the dough, then add 80 grams of raisins at the end of the mixing time. Dust a work surface with a bit of sorghum flour and knead the dough a few times until a tight ball forms. Roll into a rectangle about 12 x 10 inches (30 x 25cm) and 1/2 inch (1.3cm) thick. In a small bowl, mix 50 grams of sugar with 2 teaspoons (6g) of cinnamon.
Sprinkle the surface of the dough with half the mixture. With a short side facing you, fold the top third onto the middle and the lower third up over it, creating a letter fold. Turn the dough 90 degrees and roll again into a rectangle 13 x 8 inches (33 by 20cm). Sprinkle the surface with the remaining cinnamon sugar and roll from a short side into a tight log. Continue to roll a few times to seal the seam. Place in the greased pan, seam side down, then proof and bake as directed.
Tips: If you’re like me and not sure when you bought your baking powder, test some with a little acid (vinegar or lemon juice) to check if it still fizzes nicely.
As yeast in France can be hit or miss, I activate it in a small amount of warm water to be sure it’s alive before proceeding (make sure to keep the total amount of water in the recipe the same by subtracting the amount). Once you see bubbles forming, you know your yeast is working and can proceed.
Storage: Like most gluten-free bakes, this one is best eaten the day it’s made but freezes well and toasts up nicely. Aran suggests storing the bread at room temperature, wrapped in a paper bag, for up to three days, but by day two, mine was quite hard so best to eat it fresh, and freeze whatever you won’t eat. You can slice bread and freeze it in slices, then pop the frozen slices directly into the toaster.
It’s a little difficult for me to leave Paris right now, especially since the weather has turned remarkably and unapologetically glorious, and the markets and food shops have been bursting with fresh strawberries, spears of white and green asparagus, sweet peas still in their pods, and bundles of fragrant wild garlic leaves, which are similar to ramps but botanically different. The upside is that I’m headed to the U.S. for a book tour to launch my latest book: The Great Book of Chocolate!
Of all the books I’ve written, this was definitely one of the most fun to write, since who doesn’t love chocolate? (But don’t worry if you don’t. I have a section in the book on the new “non-cacao” chocolate substitutes.) I’ve always been fascinated by chocolate, ever since my days as a professional baker and pastry chef. I loved it so much that I ended up going to two different chocolate schools, one in Belgium and the other in France, as well as doing an internship at a swanky chocolate shop in Bruxelles, Belgium, which I wrote about in the book.
Chocolate, cherry, and vanilla cake with chocolate truffle frosting, page 131 (photo by Ed Anderson)
The Great Book of Chocolate is a guidebook to the wonderful world of chocolate. It explains how chocolate is made, where it comes from, and what to make with it, including over fifty of my favorite chocolate recipes, from sweet to savory. If you want to know what percentages on chocolate bars mean, which chocolates are best for baking, and where to get the best chocolates in Paris, which I’ve devoted an entire chapter to — pick up a copy at your local bookseller or online retailer.
This month I’ll be out and about on a book tour in the U.S. Due to global events, we were uncertain how international travel was going to play out, which was becoming a lot more challenging. While I wish I could go everywhere, here are the places that I’ll be:
If we can’t see each other, these independent bookstores are happy to send you a signed copy of the book, which I’ll personalize just for you: Kitchen Arts & Letters (order before May 2nd), Omnivore Books (order before May 11th), or Now Serving LA (order before May 14th).
If you’re in Paris at the end of the month, on May 30th, I’ll be doing a book signing at La Trésorerie Rive Gauche (48, rue de Grenelle, 7th) from 3pm to 4:30pm. Copies of The Great Book of Chocolate and My Paris Kitchen will be available for sale and signing…and there may be some chocolate treats to sample, too.
[Some Updates: The event at Dandelion chocolate in San Francisco is sold out but the Omnivore book signing and talk is open to all. The event at Now Serving in Los Angeles is also sold out, but you can come to my book event at Friends & Family bakery, which is open to all. For that, there’s a pre-order option to get a ticket for a book, if you want to ensure there will be one there for you.
There are just a few tickets left for the Rizzoli event with Taste Live in New York, but you can come to my events at Williams-Sonoma in New York and New Jersey here, which are open to all, but the stores request that you purchase a book, which you can pre-order from them at that link to ensure there’s a copy for you.]
Fondants au chocolat: French melting chocolate cakes, page 103 (photo by Ed Anderson)
Shout out to the very talented Ed Anderson for doing such a great job photographing The Great Book of Chocolate, the incredibly talented food styling team of George Dolese and Elisabet der Nederlanden, and book designer Betsy Stromberg, for making the book even more beautiful than I imagined. And if you come to my book event at Omnivore Books in San Francisco, I’ll be in conversation with Kate Leahy, who helped edit, recast, reorganize, and test the recipes in the book, and you can ask her what it’s really like to work with me… 😬 😂
In addition to all the French chocolate, one of the joys of living in Paris is that I get to see a lot of friends. I guess everyone bought their tickets months ago, wisely, and I had a kaleidoscope of visitors, which was fun, but required a bit of planning and dexterity, as well as a hearty appetite for eating out more than I normally do. In the future, people need to find a way to stagger their visits out.
One visitor was my friend Bryce, an Australian who lived in Paris and met his equally wonderful wife here, who was a Lido showgirl. Once I learned that those gals needed calories, doing two strenuous shows a night, she stopped by my place on the way to work to pick up leftovers from recipe testing, to feed and fuel the ravenous showgirls between shows.
Circa: 2009
They liked me so much that when I went to visit them backstage, they tried to dress me up as a showgirl, but I decided it was best to leave the dancing and prancing to those lovely ladies and stick with my day job.
Being our houseguest, when Bryce told me he picked up a chasson aux pommes, a flaky apple turnover, at our local bakery, I chastised him for not picking one up from Sain. I should be used to it by now, but I often say around here, “No one listens to me…” (usually to Romain) but this time, someone did. Bryce woke up the next morning and hoofed it over to Sain bakery, and swooned over it as much as I swooned over being backstage with a gaggle of showgirls.
The bakery does change the fruit according to the season; soon, they told me, they’re going to switch the filling to rhubarb, which is coming into season right now. And in the summer, they generally go with apricots, which are heavenly baked between the layers of caramelized puff pastry.
While I was busy packing and planning (and panicking a bit) to leave on my book tour, I started feeling a little overwhelmed by everything and the world began to spin. I chalked my dizziness up to nerves. I figured putting a few extra things on my plate was perhaps harder than I thought.
Normally stuff like that passes, but it didn’t. A day later I was feeling especially off-kilter and decided to go to bed at 9pm to relax. But when I closed my eyes the world was spinning so hard, I felt like I was hallucinating, and even walking when I got out of bed was very difficult. My insides were beyond queasy, but I’ll spare you those details.
SOS Médecins is a helpful organization to know about, whether you live here or even if you’re just visiting and need help.
It was getting late, but Romain called SOS Médecins,an organization of doctors who make house calls 24/7, which are conventionnées, meaning the price is in line with what the French health care system lets them charge: €24. Although Romain said it might have been €25.
(I was in an altered state when the doctor left, but when I later looked it up, I found the current prices here, which are mostly reimbursed by the French health care system. You need to have a really sharp mind to understand all the complications of French administration, but the upside is that most native French people don’t fully understand them either, so you’re not alone. The other upside is that you don’t really need to.)
What I had was VPPB. Like most French terms, my vertige positionnel paroxystique bénin gets mercifully shortened to VPPB, which involved having a physiotherapist rearrange the crystals in my ears so they line up again. I don’t understand that either.
I thought VPPB may be one of those “only in France” things, like a bouffée délirante, which is described on Wikipedia as a “uniquely French psychiatric term” for teenagers who become delusional. I never heard of that one either. I had a particularly awkward adolescence, but that was a new one on me.
The kiné (therapist) put me on the table, held my head, and moved me and my head quickly from side to side, and up and down, to get things lined up again. Like the French health care system, I’m not sure how it works, but it does.
[Disclaimer: If you have a medical condition or similar symptoms, see a doctor or certified medical professional for advice and diagnosis. What you have may be different than what I had.]
Croissant sandwiches and quiche lined up at M. Jacques patîsserie
In addition to having visitors (and getting over the shock that we have crystals moving around in our ears), I made some videos in my Paris kitchen and garden for the newsletter, which I’ll be posting here. It was fun talking to shopkeepers and friends who bake or have restaurants in Paris, learning more about chocolate (and vanilla), and how they bake with chocolate.
By the time you read this, I’ll be on a plane heading west. I’m looking forward to a slice of New York-style pepperoni pizza, an everything bagel with lox and cream cheese, a bacon, egg, and scallion pancake and a fermented red rice donut at Win Son, pastries at Hani’s and Elbow, a Mission burrito at Pancho Villa (although I can no longer eat a whole one, in one sitting - I’ve lost my SF cred!), chicken and bread salad (and a martini) at Zuni, and hopefully some fresh corn on the cob from one of the incredible greenmarkets that have been flourishing in the U.S., although I may be a little too early for that. Which means I might have to come back.
It was fun being a guest on Things Bakers Know, the King Arthur Baking podcast with Jessica Battilana. Listen in! (King Arthur Baking)
In spite of the off-kilter title they gave it, the Washington Post spoke to me, and and , about how to find a good restaurant in Paris. (Washington Post/article unlocked, but they’ll prompt you sign up for a free acct.)
What happens when stops by your kitchen in Paris to make lunch with you…
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Things I Like
I may have bought this by accident, but when I opened the jar of Chuannan chili crisp I purchased a few months ago that was in my pantry, I was surprised to dig in and see it loaded up with crunchy roasted peanuts. I have a few chili crisps in my fridge, but this one was different. And now, it’s the one I reach for the most.
The company makes a few different types of chili crisps. The one in the smaller jar (on the right) has less oil and a higher concentration of peanuts than the one in the larger jar (above, left), which has soybeans as well as peanuts. My preference is the one on the right, which is packed with peanuts. With either one, you can tilt the jar and take a look at the inside of the jar, next to the label:If you see a lot of peanuts floating around in there, that’s likely the one I prefer, although if you like chili crisp, I don’t think you’ll be disappointed with either.
You can find this brand on Amazon in the U.S., but I’d check Asian markets in your neighborhood or city to find it. I love poking around the shelves there, and I always find jars and packages of other intriguing things. Plus it’s nice to shop locally if you can.
Speaking of which, I was delighted to find that my favorite coffee shop in my neighborhood, Early Bird Coffee, carries White Mausu chili crisp with peanuts (made in Ireland), so patronizing local businesses has its rewards. Another brand of peanut chili crisp that I see is Guiz, which I haven’t tried.
There are recipes here and here if you want to try making chili crisp yourself, but I just read there’s a book about a present-day tradwife influencer who wakes up and finds herself back in the 1800s, and has to fend for herself. It’s dizzying (again!) to think of waking up tomorrow and having to press my own oil, plant my own chiles, and dig up my own peanuts for chili crisp, so I’m fine letting someone else do that for me.
I know it’s spring and summer, and we’ve been enjoying the bounty of berries and stone fruits in Paris. But no matter what time of the year it is, I can always eat pineapple, which I did on a recent trip to Taiwan, where pineapples are a staple, either fresh or preserved.
I was intrigued by the fermented pineapple I had while I was there, shown in the jars above, which was saltier than I had imagined. I liked the idea of fermenting the sweet, sturdy fruit, but when I asked my Taiwanese-American friend if he knew how that condiment was made, he asked around but never found out.
Natasha’s book explores the intersection between full-flavored foods and their beneficial properties, with recipes such as Hangar steak with dandelion green salsa, Potato and garlic pie, Farro power bowl with tahini-fig dressing, and Persimmon pudding, because persimmons are rich in carotenoids, an antioxidant that comes with a number of health benefits. I knew there was a reason I liked cake so much…
While reading the book, I came across this Pineapple kimchi recipe, which was adapted from another cookbook, Spicebox Kitchen, written by Linda Shiue MD, an internal medicine physician who studies cooking and plant-based nutrition. While my personal philosophy is to eat a wide variety of foods, making sure that I eat a lot of fruits and vegetables, as well as grains and proteins, I certainly don’t deny myself the pleasures of dessert. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have a career.
When I moved to France, way back when, I had trouble finding one of my favorite fermented foods, kimchi, so started making my own, sharing my trials and recipes on my blog. Years later, I wondered if I was going to get into trouble for the kimchi recipes that I’d posted.
Thankfully, the cancellation gods were smiling on me, no doubt realizing that I only had the best of intentions in mind, and to also let people who might not be familiar with kimchi to learn how wonderful it is, and that you can make it anywhere, even in a tiny rooftop Paris apartment.
Cancel me if you want, but I sometimes add pineapple to Thai curries, which lends a hit of cooling freshness against the coconut milk-rich, spicy sauce. But the good news is that I’m off the hook because I just looked it up and Thai people doaddpineapple to curries. Whew, that was close.
I did take a few liberties with this recipe, which called for 3 tablespoons of water, but I used the runoff of pulpy juices left on the cutting board after preparing the pineapple as part of that 3 tablespoons.
While the recipe doesn’t specifically call for it, I use Red Boat fish sauce. When I went to visit them in Vietnam, I learned that many fish sauces are made with all sorts of seafood. Cuong, who makes RB fish sauce along with his family, said that some sauces are prepared from fish that have been sitting on the boat for a couple of days, whereas the anchovies used in his fish sauce get salted right away to preserve them until they get back to shore. I’m not on their payroll, but his fish sauce is one of those quality ingredients that really does make a difference when you use it.
Speaking of quality, the theory that you can tell a pineapple is ripe ‘n ready is if you can easily pluck out a center leaf from the spiky top, which will only show you how to raise the ire of the people at the market who sell pineapples. The best way to tell if a pineapple is ripe is to sniff it near the base. It should smell sweet and like the tropics. Avoid pineapples with mold around the base or soft, mushy spots.
I’ve prepared a lot of pineapples in my time and my favorite way to do it is to lop off both ends, then trim off the skin with a chef’s knife. Then use a knife to cut around the line of the eyes, following them as they spiral around the pineapple, making a V-shape indentation on both sides of the eyes, to remove them. You can also pluck them out with the tip of a pointed vegetable peeler.
Romain loved this kimchi when I served it for dinner shortly after I made it. This is, indeed, a terrific and fresh condiment that goes well with fish or roast pork, or as a component in a rice bowl, along with tofu or shrimp, pickled vegetables, and whatever else you’ve got to add to the bowl.
While we ate some of this kimchi right away, I stored the rest in glass jars in the refrigerator, and it’s been a convenient condiment to have on hand.
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I’m very excited for the release of my newest book, The Great Book of Chocolate. This totally revised edition is filled with lots of new information about the world of chocolate, as well as a chapter on my favorite addresses for chocolate in Paris, and, yes, there are over 50 recipes that span the world of chocolate, including a chocolate cake from the late, great MaidaHeatter that she appreciated so much she sent me a letter about it…
Due to global events, it was a challenge planning an overseas trip, and some venues weren’t available on shorter notice. But I will be going to four cities — New York, New Jersey, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Alas, I can’t visit all the places I wanted to go, but you’re welcome to come visit me wherever I am. And yes, I’ll be doing an event in Paris, in late May, if you fancy a trip to Paris! 😃
If we missed each other and you want a signed copy of The Great Book of Chocolate and Ready for Dessert, get in touch with Kitchen Arts & Letters, Omnivore Books or Now Serving LA, and they can send you a copy! -dl
Below are the dates for the events. Note that a number of them are ticketed, which usually includes the price of the book. Ticketed events also help support the bookstores and ensure that a book will be available for you. If you have questions about events, feel free to contact the venue directly.
May 5th: Release of TheGreat Book of Chocolate, which is now available for pre-order. Pre-orders will arrive on, or very close to, the release date. It’s available at these retailers, or order a copy at your local bookshop.
May 30: Booksigning at La Trésorerie Rive Gauche (48, rue de Grenelle, 7th, Paris), 3pm to 4:30pm. Copies of The Great Book of Chocolate and My Paris Kitchen will be available for sale and signing.
Please note that events are subject to change and revision (like everything these days…*sigh*), although we’re hoping that doesn’t happen. If anything changes, I’ll do my best to post about it but you’re welcome to contact a venue before an event to confirm the time and date, or if you need additional information.
I love polenta, especially in the winter. It goes well with grilled or roasted meats, vegetables, fish, and poultry. It can be served for breakfast with butter. If made in advance and left to firm up overnight, it can be cut in slabs and grilled. And if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t mind firing up the deep-fryer, you can make polenta fries. (Which I love to eat, but not clean up after. Option B is to cut the polenta into batons and fry them in olive oil a skillet )
I keep a bag of polenta at home, and used to make it by stirring it on the stovetop, which took nearly an hour of constant vigilance, not to mention cleaning up the stovetop afterwards, and nursing a few burns on my arm from getting splattered by hot polenta.
When I arrived in France, I was surprised at the prevalence of instant polenta, which is polenta that’s finely ground so it absorbs liquid quickly. (There’s also precooked polenta grains, and precooked sliced polenta, which were new to me, too.) Admittedly, it’s very easy to make and is ready in about five minutes. People don’t seem to mind it, but I like the texture of traditional polenta, so stick with that.
If you want to take your polenta to the next level, seek out stone-ground polenta. Stone-ground polenta (like stone-ground cornmeal) includes the whole grain, and contains the germ and the bran. It also has retains more of its flavor during grinding since the stones grinding the corn don’t heat it up, which can diminish its flavor. But I also like the irregularity of it. It looks like real corn, not like powder.
Stone-ground polenta.
I’ve been cooking polenta for years, stirring it on the stovetop, but recently I remembered this technique, which was introduced in the pre-internet days by the great Paula Wolfert. The recipe was in her book, Mediterranean Grains & Greens, a treatise I sadly had to leave behind in the States, but she attributed to a recipe on the back of a package of Golden Pheasant polenta, although the California-based company no longer seems to be in business. 😔
I’d made it way-back-when, but for whatever reason, I continued making polenta the traditional way. It reminds me of a quote from Judy Rodgers in the Zuni Café Cookbook, something along the lines of finding, and sticking to, a harder way of doing something. For better or for worse, that’s sometimes as I operate. Old habits die hard, I suppose.
One of my favorite parts about writing my chocolate book was getting to explore, and share, the world of chocolate. Chocolate is a pretty wonderful ingredient all by itself. But I wanted to feature friends in the chocolate world, so I culled recipes from bakers, pastry chefs, chocolatiers, cookbook authors, and even bartenders for the book.
For the revision of The Great Book of Chocolate, I completely rewrote the book (since so much has changed!) and wanted to include a chocolate marshmallow recipe. So I thought about Amanda Bankert of Boneshaker donuts in Paris, who taught me how to make vegan marshmallows, which were game-changers since many people have asked me about substitutions for the gelatin and egg whites that are normally used in marshmallow recipes.
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Amanda is one of the most fun people I know, and is also a graduate of the prestigious Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. So when revising The Great Book of Chocolate, I thought, “Why not veganize chocolate marshmallows?”
With the book coming out in less than a month, I then thought, “Wouldn’t it be fun to have Amanda come over and make them with me in my kitchen?”
So we made a video of us preparing them together. We had such a good time whipping them up, and it’s great that anyone - vegan or not - can enjoy these delicious marshmallows. And next time you’re in Paris, stop by Boneshaker for a donut and a cup of coffee. Like Amanda, her shop is one of the most fun things in Paris. And if you see her behind the counter, say hi for me, and enjoy the video!
You may have to do a bit of shopping to get the xanthan gum andagar-agar, a natural gelatin substitute, which, interestingly, is sold in French grocery stores. Natural food stores or online shops are good places to look where you live. In Paris, G. Detou sells them, as well as cream of tartar. The good thing is, you’ll have them on hand for next time : )
Aquafaba is the chickpea cooking liquid found in canned chickpeas, not jarred, nor is it the liquid from dried chickpeas that you cook at home. (Interestingly, aquafaba was “discovered” by a French opera singer.) In the U.S., generally one 15-ounce/425g can yields 3/4 cup (180ml) liquid, but you may want to get an extra can just to be sure. (You can use the chickpeas to make my really good hummus.)
It’s nice to have a helper in the kitchen to steady the bowl while you fold in the cocoa powder, as I did with Amanda. If you’re by yourself, resting the mixing bowl on a silicone baking mat will help keep the bowl in place.
And don’t forget to pre-order The Great Book of Chocolate - it’s out May 5th and you’ll be the first to get a copy!
Few people know, or write about, Paris as well as Elaine Sciolino. With an extensive background in journalism, Elaine was the Paris bureau chief for the New York Times and remains a contributing writer. She has also written four books on Paris and French culture.
Her book, The Only Street in Paris, put her neighborhood on the map, portraying the various merchants, food sellers, and restaurants that line the rue des Martyrs, a microcosm of life in the city.
Her recent book is Adventures in the Louvre: How to Fall in Love with the World’s Greatest Museum. If the subtitle intrigues you, it’s because the Louvre has had its ups and downs over the years, beginning its life as a fortress, then becoming a residence, then a public “shopping” center, and now, a museum. Elaine takes readers on a journey through the imposing wall and behind the scenes of this famous museum, which both captivates, and vexes, visitors.
Being right next to the Seine, the museum is prone to flooding, crowds crane their necks to see the Mona Lisa, and robbers broke in recently, in broad daylight, snatching €88 million ($102 dollars) in jewels, which haven’t been seen since. Security has been a recurring problem at the museum, and the video security system password at the time of the robbery was “Louvre.”
Elaine’s book is also full of fun facts about the museum, including one that notes if you wanted to see the whole museum, the walk would be nine miles (14.5km). Other helpful advice: “Never go on an empty stomach and with a full bladder,” because the food offerings in the museum don’t match the cultural treasures in the galleries and corridors.
In the podcast, Elaine gave a great tip for visiting the Louvre and avoiding the crowds and the lines, which you might find helpful on your next visit.
We’ve been checking out some new places in Paris and revisiting a few from the past. Here’s where we’ve gone, and what we’ve eaten…
Radish cakes with Iberian ham at Sensation
Sensation
We have every reason to be wary of fusion restaurants, which often end up falling under the umbrella of confusion. When you don’t understand the foods and cultures that you’re trying to riff off of (or as some consider, rip off of), you get all sorts of weird combinations that don’t always work. But food changes, and immigration means people who are coming to another country learn to adapt and make do with local ingredients. And in some cases, sublimate the food to local tastes.
Another barrier is the expectation that cuisines from certain cultures should be dirt cheap. I wince when I read people say, “But I can get a plate of potstickers for $3!” when they see someone charging more than that. I, too, eat inexpensive dumplings.
It was a month that was, and nearly wasn’t. After a few years of back and forthing with a Taiwanese-American friend, we finally set a date to meet up in Taiwan along with two other friends. I’ve been to other countries in Asia but not to Taiwan, so was anxious to see it. We started off in the south of the island, in Kaohshiung. I stayed at the Hotel Nikko there, which was terrific, but was glad I’d booked a few months in advance as the price rose substantially, which my friend found out when he tried to book a last-minute room there.
We didn’t spend too much time in the city as we were invited to family meals and events, but got to see everything from making rice noodles and tofu skins, to eating shaved ice with various jellies and candied squash and beans.
After three days in the south, I was looking forward to seeing Taipei, the capital of Taiwan. Thankfully a few friends who knew Taiwan (and a few readers, too) pointed me toward some especially delicious places in the city.
I’m not one for “viral” pastries. I’m not inclined to get up at 7am and wait an hour for a cupcake or a “life-changing” cookie — no offense to Butter & Crumble, which indeed looks delicious — but was intrigued by Crispy Milk Donuts and thought I’d brave it.
There was a short line but it moved quickly. I snagged two donuts, but only got one bite of the just-out-of-the-oven donut before being whisked away. At the urging of the friendly doorman at my hotel, who said it was “crack,” which I know is a term we’re not supposed to use anymore (I’m just quoting him), I went back to get the full-on crispy milk donut experience.
Donuts can be heavy, cakey affairs, but this one was sleek, relatively thin, and lighter than a traditional donut. They dust the donuts heavily with coarsely ground powdered sugar before handing them over while still warm. You really need to eat it right away and it was something I quickly polished off. By the time I was done, my black shirt was covered with sugar.
Knowing I like ice cream, two friends in the pastry world recommended Snow King. I’m not sure why it’s not Snow Queen(s) since it was staffed by three super-nice women, but this is the place to try ice cream that features Taiwanese ingredients and flavors, such as basil, mango, peanut, passion fruit, longan, taro, pork floss, kidney bean, and my favorite, sticky rice (below, right), spiked with rice wine and candied lotus seeds.
When I ordered seven scoops for the three of us, I figured each bowl would be a grouping of two or three smaller scoops, but we ended up with seven separate, generous bowls, and scoops, of ice cream.
Pork floss is very popular in Taiwan. I saw this at the Nanmen Market. If anyone knows why there is special pork floss for babies, let me know!
We’d just polished off three heaping plates of dumplings that I over-ordered at Takumi Dumplings, but somehow we made it through most of the ice cream.
At Takumi, you order via an app, then wait on the sidewalk for your dumplings to be ready. Then you go inside, sit down, and eat them. The app was rather confusing, so we ended up with a lot. (Not shown: Another platter of dumplings.) Somehow, we managed to eat almost all of them.
Two other bakeries that I wanted to try were but we love butter and Sunny Hills, recommended by a reader (thx @ rmellorbessant) for their pineapple and apple cakes. They are a specialty of Taiwan, and you can find pineapplecakes in a lot of places, but these were especially good.
One thing that was interesting about both bakeries, which are a short walk from each other, is that they seat you for tea and a cookie, which are free, then (I guess) you buy something. I may have committed a gaffe at Sunny Hills because when I went to pay, they said, “No charge!” which was baffling.
But when I went to the next bakery, but we love butter, before I could buy anything, they sat me down at a table and gave me a cookie and tea. If you go, just be aware that the entrance is designed to look like a classic tailoring shop. Go ahead and step inside, then they’ll lead you to the sleek bakery space.
I don’t think giving away a pastry with a glass of tea is a custom that’s going to make it to Paris (or anywhere else), but I’d felt bad that I didn’t buy any cakes at Sunny Hills.
The cookie (above) was filled with candied longan and made with Échiré French butter. It was so good, I bought two boxes. Fortunately I could redeem myself with Sunny Hills (I was worried they might have posted my picture for the employees, to look out for the freeloader) when, a few days later, I found myself in the food court at 101 Taipei Tower and picked up (i.e., bought) two boxes of pineapple and apple cakes at the Sunny Hills kiosk there. So hopefully I’m off any “watch” list. 😅
And while some people think I eat sweets all day (if only!), I did make it to Din Tai Fung, famous for their Xiao long bao, soup dumplings, considered by many to be the best.
The wait time for Saturday lunch at Din Tai Fung.
If you go, and it’s definitely worth it, avoid weekends. I did notice their branch at the 101 Taipei Tower had just a one-hour wait time, and I think you can browse in the mall while you wait (on their website, they list waiting times for each branch as well), but they also have a take-out, and I saw people eating their dumplings in the nearby park.
Once inside, it’s very calm and efficient. Din Tai Fung is known for treating its employees well, using high-quality ingredients, and having an exceptionally gracious staff. Their branches in the U.S. have become the top-grossing restaurants in America, and I’m crossing my fingers that one day, they’ll open a few branches in Paris. I jokingly* told a local who I was eating dumplings with at Din Tai Fung that the best raviolis asiatiques in Paris would be considered the lowest of dumplings in Taiwan.
It was a fun trip, and I did a lot in ten days but am happy to be home and getting back to focusing on fresh fruits and vegetables, where strawberries and asparagus are showing up at the markets. When you’re traveling, you’re often eating in restaurants, which is fun, but it’s always nice to cook for yourself, and eat at home, even if I can’t make Crispy milk donuts. (Although some can.)
Start-of-the-season strawberries in Paris.
My friend, travel blogger Matt, says one should travel like you live. But I didn’t have a kitchen in my hotel room in Taiwan, so glad to be back in my own kitchen.
I’ve also been busily preparing for the release of my next book, a full-on revision of The Great Book of Chocolate. So much in the world of chocolate has changed since I originally wrote the book that my publisher prompted me to completely redo it, adding and updating information, recasting some of the recipes for what’s now available in the chocolate aisle at the supermarket, and creating brand-new recipes.
There’s a chance that I may be doing some events in the U.S. for it, although the global situation changed the economics and viability of international and domestic travel, so we are working on that, to see what’s feasible. I’ll mention any updates here in the newsletter, as well as on my Schedule page.
But if I don’t make it out-and-about, I’ll be creating some videos for the newsletter, inviting friends into my kitchen in Paris, to make recipes from the book to share with you. I’ll also visit one of my favorite shops in Paris, where the owner will tell us what makes French chocolate so good, and how to buy the best vanilla, which is a natural pairing with chocolate, bien sûr…
-David
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A Visit to Staub Cookware Factory in France
Testing various glazes: Pots and lids get glazed about 2 or 3 times, and each coating turns the pots and lids a different shade of green. It takes between 1 to 2 years to develop and test a new color.
I love going to factories, especially ones that make cookware. In the past I’ve visited All-Clad, Le Creuset, and Mauviel, and was the first “outsider” to be allowed inside the KitchenAid factory. So I was thrilled when I was invited with some friends, which included Deb of , , and Irene Wong, to visit Staub, one of my favorite French brands, makers of the iconic enameled cast-iron pots and casseroles.
Located in the north of France, the foundry turns out nearly 1,500,000 pots and pans per year. Almost all of it is made by hand, by three hundred skilled employees.
Anything that’s not perfect gets tossed in the reject pile, to be remelted (and recycled) into new pots.
It was really something to see how the cookware was made, beginning from being molten metal, to emerging as shiny new casseroles, ready to send to cooks and bakers around the world…
I had a great time at the factory and made some new friends as well there, and also picked up a few new pieces to add to my collection. I even got to use the smitten kitchen braiser to make Paris Gnocchi, a favorite recipe of mine from My Paris Kitchen.
Preach!…someone who feels the same way about soup in restaurants as I do…
…although I give Asian meal-in-a-bowl type of soups a pass, like the beef noodles I had in Taiwan, above, especially if they have lots of noodles or dumplings in them. (Gotofood/Instagram)
I've been confabbing with a friend from San Francisco, whose family is Hakka, from the south of Taiwan, to visit the country. And after a couple of years of talking about it, two friends of mine and I finally did it, and joined him there.
Lunch (or was it dinner?) on my KLM flight to Taiwan.
I had a bit of trepidation about the trip there since the itinerary was a bit complicated. Fortunately, though, I didn’t book on one of the flights that went through the Middle East, instead booking a KLM flight from Paris through Amsterdam, where there were only two of us going through immigration, and I made it through in record time, so making my connection was my first sense of relief.
Then I flew from Amsterdam to Taipei which, speaking of “relief,” — we were told as we were taking off that three of the bathrooms on our plane, which was filled to capacity, were out of service. So I didn’t drink much on the plane and arrived rather parched, to put it mildly. Shout-out to the flight attendants on KLM who were super lovely and very friendly. I watched two very good movies, Rental Family and Bugonia, which was wild, and had a good meal of what I think was Indonesian food.
My arrival in Taipei was pretty easy as well; unlike the airport in Paris, there are tons of bathrooms at the Taipei airport — you didn't have to hike twenty minutes and take two flights of stairs to find one. After hydrating myself back to normal, I took a train from the airport in Taipei to the high-speed train station, then another train to Kaohsiung. I arrived at my hotel about 23 hours after I left home. I rehydrated some more, then went to bed, relieved that I had made it.
My first meal after landing with chicken teriyaki.
I don’t know much (or anything, really) about Taiwan or Hakka food, except that in San Francisco, I frequently ate at a Hakka restaurant, which was legendary — except I just read that it closed. But our friend is from this part of Taiwan and told me that because the Hakka were displaced, their food was on the simpler side. And because at one point the Japanese had colonized Taiwan, there remains a moderate Japanese influence.
The next day, I went to a funeral.
It wasn’t actually a funeral but “Tomb Sweeping Day,” when people visit cemeteries and columbariums to clean the tombstones of those who have passed. The columbarium that we visited was packed with friends and families bringing offerings of food. It was touching to be invited and to see how people celebrate and honor their ancestors. Afterward, of course, there was food.
(And don’t worry, all that food that’s brought for offerings gets taken home and eaten. I was also wondering about that…)
My friend’s cousin made lunch for us back at her house. And what a meal it was! There were probably ten or twelve dishes, put together in their humble kitchen, but with great finesse.
We had heaping bowls of fish cakes, and then a cascade of other platters and plates arrived. Braised pork trotters, Taiwanese sausages with fragrant and flavorful garlic greens piled in the middle, fresh shrimp and cuttlefish in the back — and my friend Cal showed me a locally grown star fruit. They are usually green, hard, and unripe, and this ripened one was a treat.
We finished the meal with an alluring soup…
…served from a big pot with cubes of blood-rice sausage and pieces of locally raised chicken (which was “sacrificed” that morning on the farm), spiked with a lot of millet “wine” — which was actually millet eau-de-vie, at 40% (or more) alcohol. It was so strong that my friends and I had a little trouble finishing a whole bowl, but the elders in the room didn’t have any trouble.
Desserts aren’t usually served after Hakka meals, but that didn’t stop us from heading over to the local shaved ice shop.
I fell hard for my bowl of shaved ice, which had layers of candied red and mung beans, as well as chunks of starchy taro root and grass jelly under a layer of snowy, airy wisps of ice.
My absolute favorite part of the 剉冰 were the chunks of candied winter melon the owner spooned on top, with a drizzle of raw cane sugar syrup. The dessert was barely sweet and completely refreshing. We'd ordered three bowls to share amongst the five of us, but our Taiwanese friends didn't want to share, and each ended up ordering their own — and finished them, as did I.
Well fed, and (finally) well-hydrated (no thanks to that soup!), the next day we visited a rice noodle factory where the layers of rice batter were rolled out by machines, then cut.
Taiwanese people are known for their love of noodles, and we also visited a famous tofu skin "factory" (although it was more like an outdoor workshop) where the soy milk is heated by fire, then poured into trays while it's warm. As soon as a skin forms on top, the women expertly run a long metal cutter to separate the skin from the edges, slip a wooden dowel underneath, and lift off the skin.
Then the skins are left to dry out in the sun until crisp. Even though they're dried, their shelf life is short — just a few weeks — so I didn't bring any home. But the tofu skins from this particular place are very sought after.
I asked if I could give it a try, after a bit of reassurance that I was a baker (so they'd know I wouldn't completely screw up their whole production) — and I got a little lesson:
It took me a few tries to get the hang of it. I was pleating them starting from the wrong end, and the woman who was showing me how to do it told me I needed to speed things up. 😂 I'm sure if I'd spent a little more time with them, which I would have been happy to do, I would have gotten faster and better at it. Watching rice noodles and tofu skins being made made me hungry for noodles. Fortunately, that was our next stop.
Tofu skins can be cooked and eaten like noodles, presoaked and tossed in stir-fries, or used to wrap dumplings. They're one of my favorite things, and when I was in Osaka, we ate at a restaurant that specialized in yuba, or tofu skins.
At the noodle shop, there was a platter of pig’s trotters, braised eggs, pressed tofu, kombu (seaweed), and some spicy condiments on the table, including jars of fermented pineapple.
Before the noodles, out came a platter of pork intestines covered with slivered fresh ginger. The intestines were a little chewy, but the copious amount of ginger was a welcome treat.
Once all the accompaniments were sliced and presented to our table, I was ready for noodles.
I'm sure some of you may be hovering over the "Leave a comment" button regarding the greenish outer yolks of the braised eggs, but there's a pot of them in every convenience store, bubbling away for who-knows-how-long, and they go fast. So it doesn't seem to bother anybody, including me, since they're pretty tasty.
Then, out came the individual bowls of fresh rice noodles for us, which were topped with caramelized shallots — a popular condiment here — and then you add other condiments such as black vinegar, miso-based soy paste, and chili pastes. (I have this miso soy paste at home, which my Taiwanese-American friend sitting next to me on the train right now, tells me is thicker than what we had here.)
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And the White Rabbit black vinegar we used was also a bit of a revelation to me as it was much better than the regular black vinegar I get at the Asian markets back home. It had a tangy, fruity flavor and my friend's cousin poured a little over my noodles, then a little of the miso soy sauce over them, and told me to mix everything up and eat. I added some of the chile sauce and paste as well.
Finally there was dessert (again), and at my request, we went for ice cream.
The menus were all in Chinese (or maybe they were in Hakkanese, the local language?) and while I used Google Camera to do some translating, my friend's cousin took control of the order, and I was glad that she did. She obviously knew what she was doing, and while I suggested we get a few to share, everyone wanted one of their own, customized the way they liked it, with various jellies and candied beans spooned on top and around the rainbow scoops.
I also asked if we could add an almond jelly, which I like a lot. It came served with dragon fruit, papaya, and whole guava (the green chunk, whose skin you eat), with an extra dollop of candied red beans (which I also like a lot) under the ice cream.
The morning we left Kaohsiung, I planned to stop at Xing Long Ju for Taiwanese breakfast. In France, breakfast isn’t a big thing, and going “out” for breakfast means a café express and perhaps a croissant, standing at the bar in a café. Taiwanese people seem to love to eat, which they do at all hours of the day. Meal times here aren’t strictly defined as they are in France, and if you’re hungry and feel like eating, you eat.
Taiwanese breakfasts include things like cha siu bao (warm steamed BBQ pork buns), eggy pancakes, fan tuan (sticky rice rolls wrapped around crispy crullers, sometimes with meat), and dumplings. Almost over my jet lag, I woke up at 5am and was ready to head over there. Xing Long Ju opens at 4:30am, and just as I was about to head out, I did a quick search to confirm the address and saw they were closed on Tuesday. Zut!
Oh, well. You can’t do and see, and eat, everything — but when I get to Taipei, I hope to have a Taiwanese breakfast, no matter what time it is. Just as long as they’re open.
Pretending to be French, before I actually became French.
The food world has been ablaze accusations made by former employees of Noma restaurant in Copenhagen against chef René Redzepi, who is “stepping away” from his position leading the restaurant. Many of us had heard about them for nearly a decade, and while some people have been saying that if the employees were so disgruntled, they should have said something, anyone who’s been bullied, or seen someone being bullied, knows that if you don’t keep your mouth shut, you may be next.
I couldn’t resist bringing home all these cheeses. Could you?
When I moved to France and was doing food tours, at some point, a guest would inevitably ask, “Why did you move to France?” while we were in front of a bakery or a cheese shop. I wouldn’t say anything (which was unusual for me) but would just point at the magnificent pastries or cheeses in the window, and they’d get the message.
Also, nearly twenty years ago, during that same time in France, I was at a restaurant in the Champagne region and before dessert, was offered a plate of cheese that I still remember to this day. It was a Comté, aged for four years. The nutty, raw milk mountain cheese made in the French Alps is normally aged between 8 and 24 months. The longer a cheese is aged, the harder, drier, saltier, and sharper the cheese becomes, as it loses moisture.
When I visited the region, the fellows who made the cheeses told me they preferred the younger Comtés; they are smoother (doux) and milkier-tasting, which gave me a greater appreciation for younger cheeses, although I do like the concentrated flavors in a well-aged cheese.
Camemberts de Normandie, one of France’s greatest cheeses.
As the years passed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the four-year-old Comté that was presented to me after dinner, served as lamelles, thin wisps stacked on a plate. The medium-dry shards of cheese, with notes of hazelnuts and grass, had little crackly bits in them and were a revelation.
I was told that the amazing cheese was from an affineur (cheese ripener) named Bernard Antony, who was located in the small village of Vieux-Ferrette, in Alsace. As proof that good things come to those who wait, when an invitation arrived last month to visit his ripening caves and shop, it was a dream come true.
Brin d’Amour cheeses ripening.
Cheese shops (fromageries) do their best to store cheese under proper conditions; some cheesemakers send their cheeses to affineurs, whose specialty is carefully ripening unfinished cheeses. They know exactly how each cheese needs to be treated, from the correct temperature and humidity levels in the caves, to what to brush or rub on the outside of the cheeses as they are ripening, and when.
The jovial Monsieur Antony grew up in a family of farmers and started ripening cheeses in 1981 at his family farm, which is now his well-known shop and ripening caves.
This is still a local, family-owned business, and Monsieur Antony tends his six cheese cellars along with his son, Jean-François.
The shop was in full swing with cheesemongers talking to customers, helping them select the right cheeses, then carefully wrapping each one up to take home. The showcase was filled with spectacular cheeses. There were quite a few that I’d never seen before and was happy to try.
There were others that were familiar to me, such as the Brin d’Amour (below), that look quite different (and a lot better) than the ones I was used to.
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After I put my dropped jaw back into place, we were led toward a tasting room, where we were presented with a roundup of perfectly ripened cheese, ready for our dégustation.
The cheese at the bottom was Saint-Nicolas, a partially aged cheese that had a delectably creamy tang due to the sheep’s milk used to make the cheese. The one next to it, with the rounded edges to its left, was an Abbaye de Cîteaux. Sometimes these kinds of washed rind cheeses can be rubbery, like Morbier can be, so I generally avoid them. But this was the most surprising cheese on the plate and was even better than perfect. It was divine.
Moving on to the next one, the small block of golden yellow cheese was a twenty-month-old Comté Réserve. Comté is one of the most popular cheeses in France, and Jean-Francois (Monsieur Antony’s son) told us that, in his opinion, twenty months was the ideal age for Comté.
Another cheese was a Tomme de Savoie, a sort of catch-all term for a number of cheeses from the Savoie, that the Antony website says “doesn’t mean much anymore.” But like the Abbaye de Cîteaux, when you get a good version, you taste what the other tommes are missing. And this one was going on my mental list of cheeses to bring home.
There was a small wedge of a truly remarkable Camembert de Normandie. Like “tomme,” the word camembert is applied to many cheeses that look like the real deal, but there are just a handful of producers left of Camembert de Normandie. Always look for “de Normandie” after the name if you want to get the real deal in France, made from raw milk and molded by hand.
Most Camemberts de Normandie are slightly musky and funky (in a good way), but this was a whole different category with powerful flavors of wild and dried mushrooms. It had an extra-strong creaminess thanks to the milk used to make the cheese, which comes from Normande cows, known for their especially high-quality milk.
I don’t buy Camembert too often since it’s so rich, and a good one starts oozing out shortly after you cut it - which is why they sell special boîtes to store ripe Camembert in. So when I do buy one, I get the best I can find. And while I thought bringing one home was a good idea, after it was gone two days later, I wish I’d bought at least a second one.
Because we were in Alsace, of course there was a slice of Muenster to taste. But I was still euphoric from that exceptional Camembert de Normandie and looking forward to the next cheese, the Comté I remembered from decades ago.
Yes, it was time to revisit the Comté Hors d’Age (Comté without age). They mentioned how aging this cheese up to 48 months can pose some challenges, namely a loss of moisture and higher salt content. Their knowledge of cheese ripening really shines in this elegant cheese, which keeps the character of Comté but deepens it. This was also the most expensive cheese that they sold, but all the work that goes into it definitely pays off.
The perfect pairing with cheese is wine, with cider and beer also being fine accompaniments. Alsatian wines are some of the best you can drink. And no, they’re not all sweet.
In fact, most are dry. But because that perception still exists today, a wine scale is posted on the back labels of Alsatian wines, which rates the wine from dry (sec) to sweet (doux).
Alsatian wine scale from Jancis Robinson.com, which has written more extensively about it here.
Alsatian wines are also notable as they’re sold by the cépage (grape variety) in France, rather than by the region. Few people in France know the grapes that go into, say, a red Burgundy or a white Muscadet from the Loire, but because of their Germanic influence, wines from Alsace are labeled by the grape variety and often sold in elongated bottles, called flûtes d’Alsace.
Because it goes so well with cheese, their shop sold quite a few wines, but sommelier Fabrice Langlois, who worked the night shift before our trip (and somehow managed to make the 7:20am train), came with a backpack rattling with incredible bottles of wine. This one was my favorite:
Following the “what grows together, goes together” theme, this Trimbach Grand Cru riesling was especially good with the Alsatian cheeses.
In addition to “Alsatian wines are sweet,” another myth that needs to go away is that red wine goes with cheese. There are a lot of subtle flavors in cheese and a tannic, heavy Cabernet Sauvignon, for example, can obliterate those flavors.
Even in France, the cliché of “red with cheese” is still strong. It reminded me of a passage in restaurateur Keith McNally’s memoir, I Regret Almost Everything, that I just finished. He talked about reading Don Quixote because his friends told him it was one of the best books ever written. And he hated it:
“I waded through the thousand-page ‘classic’ without enjoying a single page, but for the next thirty years told everyone it was a masterpiece. I said this not because I loved the book, but because I was supposed to love it.”
If you really do like red wine and cheese together, great! But if you want to go with red, I might suggest trying something with less tannins, or a softer, slightly sweet wine like port or sherry, which pair beautifully with many cheeses.
Another myth is that cheese doesn’t pair with seafood, which as anyone who’s had a tuna melt knows, isn’t true. But a pairing I wouldn’t have thought of were these oysters.
Chef Saintagne worked his magic on them, broiling up the oysters, gratinéed with slices of Camembert de Normandie, and dotted with toasted croutons on top. The salty, briny oysters were an incredible pairing with the rich cheese. They reminded me why it’s good to keep an open mind, rather than just following along with what everyone else says. Otherwise, I would have missed these oysters, which I might even try making at home.
After our extensive cheese and wine tasting, we visited the caves where the cheeses are ripened. As a side note, you often go to tastings and people just…taste, and leave a lot behind on the plates. When were were done, every plate was completely cleaned.
⭐ Bernard Antony Cheese Tasting in Paris ⭐
Starting on March 13th, 2026 and extending to the end of April 2026, “tour de France” cheese-tasting platters will be offered at Alain Ducasse Baccarat bar à vin, Bar Midi-Minuit for 35 euros, with the option to add a wine pairing by Sommelier Fabrice Langlois. (Bookings and more info here.)
We didn’t catch all the names of the cheeses (frankly, there were a lot), but often it’s best to go to a cheese shop and see what looks best or most appealing that day and make your selection then. That said, the shop has a page on their website in three languages that identifies and describes many of their cheeses.
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After visiting the caves to see the ripening cheeses, because I live in Paris, I’ve learned how to get — and remain — at the front of a line, no matter how many people are behind me. Fortunately, trying to cut in line hasn’t made it to Alsace, but because I am bien élevé (well-raised, and well-mannered), I let someone in our group go ahead of me.
He ended up buying at least as many cheeses as I planned to, but I was happy to be next in line, as a lengthy line was forming and snaking out the door, since they’d just reopened after their lunch break.
I’d never heard of Sonlomont, a cheese from Switzerland that I think is the same as Tome de Lomont, but happy to be corrected. They gave me a taste, which confirmed that I needed to bring a block of that home.
There was also this Tomme de Chartreuse, which didn’t contain any of the famed liqueur, but was made in the mountainous region called the massif de la Chartreuse. Following in the steps of “what grows together, goes together,” I’d imagined the mountain cheese with the semisoft texture and milky flavor would go well with the liqueur.
I made a mental note to bring a wedge of that home, but somehow, I forgot to ask for it, which I realized on the train back to Paris. That was also a shame because I was having drinks with friends from Chartreuse later that evening in Paris, which ended at 1:20am. (It was a long day!)
Monthais sur Feuille is one of my favorite goat cheeses, ripened on a chestnut leaf (feuille), which absorbs some of the humidity. While you can find this cheese at many fromageries, theirs is exceptionally good, made by a “passionate and incredibly gifted producer.” It’s nice to see them calling out the work and effort of producers they work with, since at Fromagerie Antony, cheese is a collaborative process. They follow the whole process, from milking the cows, to curdling and molding the cheese, and finishing it in their cellars.
A few years ago I got picked on for making Tartiflette without Reblochon, the classic cheese. But I saw the high prices for it outside of France, and because, in reality, a lot of times in France, Tartiflette is made with othercheeses, sometimes labeled as “Le Fromage pour Tartiflette” (without a speck of Reblochon in its ingredients). I decided to let people know they can make it with other cheeses, as it’s done in France.
That said, if I lived near Fromagerie Antony, I would get my Reblochon there and make Tartiflette with that. Actually, if I lived nearby, I’d get all my cheeses there. Unfortunately, it’s a little too far to do my cheese shopping, but at least I had the good sense to bring enough cheese home to last us a few weeks…even if it didn’t.
If you want to visit, cheese tastings are available to the public by reservation here, with at least a one-day notice. Their website also offers information on lodgings in the area as well as taxi services. Getting there from Paris requires a train tripand a taxi or rental car.
(When driving, their website notes that navigation systems don’t always take you to the right village, even if you enter it correctly in a GPS system. They suggest you follow this Google Map.)
I don’t blame you if you haven’t heard of vin jaune, the primary ingredient in this cocktail. For years, the wine wasn’t available in the U.S. due to the size of the bottle: 62cl. Called a clavelin, its particular shape references the amount of wine that was historically left in the standard 70cl bottle after its 6+ years of aging. The wine that evaporates is called the part des anges, the angel’s share.
Winemakers in the Jura region, between Switzerland and Burgundy, where vin jaune is made, refused to change the size of the bottle to conform to U.S. standards, but it’s finally been cleared for legal sale in the U.S.
Even though it’s been cleared for export to the States, vin jaune remains an outlier in the wine world. In the Jura, some wines are intentionally oxidized, called sous voile. Unlike conventional wines, during aging, the oak casks for sous voile wines aren’t topped up, leaving room for a veil (voile) of yeast to form on the surface of the wine. That yeast is called the flor. Sous voile wines aren’t to everybody’s taste, and it’s easy to confuse their flavor with flawed wine. I like their more complex tastes, but for those who aren’t expecting it, they might think the wine is spoiled.
Other wines from the Jura are topped off with additional wine as they age, keeping the barrel full, called ouillé, and those wines tend to taste more like conventional wines. Because wine production in the Jura is low, the wines tend to be harder to get outside of France, and are more expensive. So I nudge visitors to France to give them a try while they’re here.* Why not?
Vin jaune means “yellow wine,” which refers to its rich golden color. It has a very distinctive nuttiness with notes of dry wood, green apples, lemon, burnt sugar, and maybe even spices. Because it’s made in the same region as Comté cheese, there is no better cheese pairing than Comté and vin jaune. It’s perfect.
Better known than vin jaune is elderflower liqueur, which is now everywhere, prompting it to be dubbed the ketchup of bartenders. The sweet liqueur is a popular addition to spritzes and glasses of bubbly. And while people tell me they don’t like sweet cocktails (neither do I), cocktails often need a touch of sweetness to balance the other ingredients, such as lemon juice and stronger spirits.
When I was writing my book Drinking French, bartender and bar owner Joseph Boley gave me a bottle of another French-made elderflower liqueur, which was featured in his cocktail in the book, and told me it’s the same thing but half the price. I’ve been using it (as you can see) and no one’s pointed out any difference.
Every year, there is a vin jaune festival in the Jura called La Percée du Vin Jaune. I’ve always wanted to go but a friend who worked in the region told me it’s a lot of drinking and there are a lot of people; their website said 33,000 attended last year. The festival takes place in February, when it’s pretty cold in the Jura. However, I found a recipe that they published (above), the Fl’or du Jura, that I can enjoy in the crowd-free, cozy comfort of home.
Like one of my favorite cocktails from Drinking French, the Yellow cocktail, the Fl’or du Jura combines a few seemingly disparate ingredients that come together in one cohesive cocktail. You may have to track down a bottle of vin jaune to make it, although I tested it with sherry and it was just as delicious. It’s also lower in alcohol than other cocktails since the wine and elderflower liqueur are less than half the ABV as gin, whiskey, and rum, but it’s filled with flavor. À santé…!
*Some restaurants in France offer vin jaune by the glass, often listed on the menu under after-dinner drinks since it’s drunk with dessert. In his excellent book, The Food & Wine of France, , in the chapter on vin jaune (subtitled The Virtue of Rancidity), he notes about vin jaune: ”On first trying it, many people dislike it.”
Vin jaune is delicious in this cocktail and may not be what you expect when you first try it, on its own, but it does grow on you. If you get a bottle, it’s remarkable with Comté cheese or a similar nutty-tasting mountain cheese, such as Gruyère or Beaufort. Once opened, the bottle will keep in the refrigerator at least a month.
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