Scenes from France

Nine years ago, I traveled through the winding pastures of France in the Champagne region. Lush terrain with the chance for a glass of bubbly at every turn. It gave me a passion for the farm estate makers that have lovingly created small batches of sparkling for generations. But this year’s trip to France was entirely different.

My family and I covered southern France this time, mainly Provence with a quick sidebar in the Riviera. While Champagne had been a pregnant green, Provence was arid and chalky. The ground’s surface a boxing ring for sunlight. (Perfect conditions for vines to render concentrated grape juice, however.)

I could wax rhapsodic evoking Peter Mayle and his infamous year in Provence. His main focus may have been renovating an 18^th century farmhouse, but the real nugget of truth about the region is life’s joys—food, wine, and a very languid pace. It is a culture, much like the rest of the Mediterranean, that respects the pleasures life has to offer and believes you should exercise that pleasure every day.

What struck me most during this visit was the emphasis on quality, not quantity. Whether we like to admit it or not, this is the antithesis of American life. We focus on the biggest bang for our buck. Get a Big Gulp for half price with two Slushies and a Twinkie? Awesome! For the French, the pleasure of food and wine is about savoring not only the flavors of the product but the effort that went in to making that product. It is a respect for our surroundings—land, sea, air, and all the things in them—that differentiates the French from us.

Americans tend to take things for granted. We have gotten used to the gigantic, tasteless strawberries in the supermarket because we’ve forgotten what a real strawberry straight off the vine tastes like. We think a block of cheese is an orange brick with a picture of Pocahontas on it. The U.S. has certainly undergone a food renaissance in recent years, but we still have a long way to go.

That brings me to the subject of how the French make bread. This is something, quite frankly, the French have perfected. A crusty baguette is one of the most perfect foods. Crunchy on the outside, soft and pillowy on the inside. The Italians and the Spanish have bread, but it is merely used as a carbohydrate spoon. You mop up olive oil or sauce with it, but you don’t linger on it. The French make a loaf of bread like a long-lost lover you’ve suddenly reconnected with and never want to lose again.

French baking is an art form. Because of that, they don’t hork down a whole log of it in one sitting. They have a few pieces with a picnic in the park or perhaps a hunk of it with jam and coffee as a morning pick-me-up. They certainly don’t lob it down their gullet as fast as possible while doing 10 other things before heading out the door. And, they don’t eat standing up. One must savor one’s food to completely enjoy it. (Hence, the lazy pace.)

When on vacation, I often take pictures of the food I eat because I want to remember the dish in order to recreate it back home. This time, I didn’t fumble for the camera on my iPhone. I ate with gusto, not caring that what I was thoroughly enjoying would never see the light of day on Facebook. I didn’t feel the need to take a selfie with my salade Niçoise.

I walked away from this trip hoping to take just a tiny piece of that leisurely lifestyle with me. It’s a slice of France I want to have with me even when I’m not on vacation.  

The Best Butcher In Town

Courtesy of Custom Meats

You really have no idea how essential a friendly, neighborhood butcher is until you have one. Then, you don’t know how you managed without one before now.

Just before Memorial Day weekend, a butcher moved in next to the French bakery in my town. Tim Frosina, owner of the newly opened Custom Meats, spent his time working at Fleischer’s Craft Butchery as well as a few years in France with his own version of American barbecue. Coming back home, he wanted to put his own stake in the ground with a shop that focused on organic, humanely-raised animals. He said that when he saw his first animal broken down, he knew being a butcher would be his life’s work. When asked why he felt so strongly about this profession, he gave a stark answer.

“Because it matters,” he said. “Doing this is probably the single most important thing my generation will do.”

We talked about how there has been a shift to move back to the land. An increasing number of people 35 years old and under are gravitating toward more vocational professions. While the average farmer in this country is plus or minus 57 years old, there is a growing percentage of new farmers that are young and adventurous. Millennials in particular have no desire to spend their time in a cubicle. They want to experience life and sometimes that’s gained by getting your hands dirty.

But when it comes to meat, most people don’t know where it comes from. Ryan Fibiger of Fleischer’s Craft Butchery relayed in another article I wrote that the reason is because they actually don’t want to know.

“Most customers don’t understand where their meat comes from,” he explained. “People don’t want to know that their food had a face.”

With the concept of the 100-mile diet to eat as locally as possible within your region, a number of shops have chosen to provide that information for their customers. You know which farms that vendor works with and in what towns those products are raised.

For some, eating meat is not on their to-do list and that’s fine. But for those who do eat meat, we want to know that it was a happy animal (before it got slaughtered for our culinary enjoyment) and that it was raised without crap in it. Who wants a heaping pile of steaming antibiotics and hormones?

So, the next time you’re planning on meat for dinner, visit your local butcher and ask what’s good today. You won’t regret it.

Pretzels

They might be small and crunchy or soft, buttery, and large. No doubt, pretzels are a go-to snack for many Americans. What was originally a Bavarian staple with large steins of beer doled out by a buxom blonde in a dirndl, pretzels have been getting a culinary makeover. Used as anything from hamburger buns to garlic knots to chocolate-dipped and cinnamon dusted desserts, these little beauties are rising to the challenge. And what’s not to love? Like a good baguette, there’s a little crunch on the outside with chewy goodness on the inside.

Pretzels, typically twisted back onto itself like angel’s wings, probably originated in the early Middle Ages. There are conflicting accounts as to who holds the title of pretzel inventor. One thing is clear—the Germans perfected them.

According to Wikipedia, German immigrants introduced the pretzel to the U.S. in the late 18^th century. Settling mainly in Pennsylvania, the state is now the largest pretzel manufacturer with 80% of the industry’s production.

While the hard ones in a bag are great for a sandwich sidekick, the key to thoroughly enjoying your pretzel experience is making sure they are soft. On one trip to Munich, we were surprised that the giant bread knots that the waitress carried around on one arm were hard as a rock. While the harder version means their shelf life is longer, there’s a huge difference biting into a hard or a soft pretzel.

You can find them in any German bakery, sometimes riddled with sunflower, sesame, or even poppy seeds. They can be sliced up and slathered with butter (Butterbrezel) or served with sausages. Flaked with salt crystals and dipped in mustard, there’s just no substitute for this delectable yumminess.

Here’s the recipe:

2 c. milk

2 ½ TB instant dry yeast

6 TB brown sugar

1 TB Kosher salt

6 c. all-purpose flour

4 TB melted butter

1 ½ c. warm water

½ c baking soda

Warm the milk to the temperature of bath water (100-110 degrees F) and then mix in the yeast. Let it proof for 5 minutes. Add in the butter, sugar, salt and flour. Mix together and knead for 10 minutes. Place dough ball in greased bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let sit for 1 hour.

Combine water and baking soda. Roll out pretzels into whatever shape you choose (classic twist, balls, sticks, etc.). Dip pretzels in water/soda mixture and place on greased baking sheet. Bake at 425 degrees F for about 10 minutes.

Cold Summer Soups

Soup is probably the last thing you think of when the weather gets hot. But the temperatures heat up, there’s nothing easier than blending up a few ingredients and calling it dinner. No stove or oven time. You don’t even need to fire up the grill. Just grab some fruit or veggies and whiz them up!

Soup as a meal has been around for thousands of years. The etymology stems from the French meaning broth, but the original source is more likely a derivative of Latin. Many of the first recorded soups were thick stews. But eventually, there was a little more refinement in the preparation and thinner, slicker recipes were created.

Cold soups can be thick enough to merit a spoon or thin enough to be a shooter.  Gazpacho is probably the most well known cold soup. But even with that dish, there are a dozens of variations. The Latin American version differs from the Spanish version. One is a chunky vegetable soup while the latter blends stale bread into the mixture creating a creamy, coral-colored yumminess. Salmorejo uses a little more bread so the texture is thicker and it’s often served with Serrano jamon, but it’s still a Spanish gazpacho. Then, there’s white gazpacho made from a base of almonds. Really, the possibilities are endless…

But vegetables do not have the corner market on cold soups. All kinds of fruits—watermelon, cantaloupe, nectarine, strawberry—can make a great starter, main meal, or even a light dessert. 

I chose to go with a simple cucumber soup. The epitome of cool, cucumbers are a great addition to a cold base. Add yogurt and you’ve got yourself some creamy goodness.

Here’s the recipe:

1 lg English cucumbers, peeled and diced

1 garlic clove, chopped

1 tsp salt

1 tsp. black pepper

2 TB olive oil

2 TB fresh dill, chopped

2 c. plain yogurt

2 c. cold water

In a deep bowl, combine the cucumbers, salt, pepper, oil and dill. Let it sit for a few minutes to steep. Add the yogurt to coat. Transfer to food processor. Add the water. Blend all ingredients until smooth. Serve chilled.

Fish Cakes

I’m a sucker for a good crab cake. Succulent lumps of white flesh gently held together by a little egg and mayo. If you prefer a crab cake consisting mostly of breadcrumbs and no crab to speak of, find another blog. Those are not crab cakes; those are hockey pucks. I’m talking about flaky fish, fish, fish. That’s all you should taste with maybe a little kick of heat.

But the crab cake model is not meant merely for the crab. All kinds of fish can find their way to your plate being held together by a little emulsion and softly sautéed to golden perfection. In fact, that’s how fish cakes were born—using up leftovers. Almost every cuisine on the planet has their own form of fish cake that’s been boiled, beer-battered, fried or pan-seared.

My last tango with fish cakes was with some leftover salmon. Dinner ended up being a riff on Niçoise salad with fish cakes instead of filets. Salmon is a great base for this dish. It’s got lots of flavor and enough fatty oil of its own to keep it together. But as with any fish cake, the flavor has to come through with a focus on the fish and not the filler.

As filler goes, your best bet is with the cracker scene and not breadcrumbs. Bread is heavy. Crackers are lighter and you don’t need much to act as a binder. I use either Saltines or oyster crackers. Light and puffy, they add just enough without being overbearing.

Here’s the recipe:

1 lb. cooked salmon

1 red pepper

2 scallions, chopped

1 large garlic clove, minced

½ c. parsley, chopped

½ c mayonnaise

1 egg, beaten

1 TB Dijon mustard

1 tsp paprika

½ tsp Tabasco sauce

1 c. Saltines

Shred the cooked salmon with your hands. Whisk together the mayo, egg, mustard, paprika, and Tabasco. Add to the salmon. Mix well. In a pan, sauté the garlic and pepper with a little butter or oil (your choice). Allow to cool, then add to the salmon mixture with the parsley and scallions. Whiz up the crackers in a food processor and incorporate into the salmon. Form into little patties. Sauté the patties in either butter or olive oil. Serve immediately.