January highlights

Holiday

For the last few days, I’ve been wholly absorbed in planning for a forthcoming five-day trip to Istanbul. I imagine I’ll make it to the Hagia Sofia and Topkapi Palace, but what I’m really excited about is the food. I’ve even joined Twitter in order to survey expert opinion on the best place for manti, a lamb tortellini of sorts, served in yogurt sauce.

Winter fruit at Maltby Street

Tony Booth’s decision to move his eponymous fruit and veg shop from Borough Market to Maltby Street has added at least 30 minutes to my Saturday morning shopping routine. But damn it if the man doesn’t make it worth it every time. This week there was beautiful Yorkshire forced rhubarb, just over half the price of his Borough competitors. Oranges with flesh the colour of pink grapefruits were 5 for a pound, the Sicilian sanguinello not much more.

Chinese New Year

We celebrated the Lunar New Year last weekend with G’s brother and sister-in-law. There were 14 guests and nearly as many dishes, ranging from wasabi mayo-topped smoked salmon in filo cups to sweet-spicy chicken wings and homemade black sesame ice cream. Little was left of the pomelo salad, but S mixed us up another batch of the tangy, coconuty dressing. (It made an excellent supper when we returned to London, stirred through strips of grilled chicken breast, shredded Savoy cabbage and rice noodles.) And while she claimed that that the turnip cake, apparently an epic labour, was not up to her mother’s standards, chunks of it scrambled with eggs and spring onions at breakfast the next morning was good enough to bring back memories of a similar dish from our Penang food crawl.

Alice Medrich’s cocoa brownies

Had I known that two professional chefs would be attending the gumbo evening for which these were baked, I probably would have tried to find a way out of my hastily-made promise to bring dessert. But not only did these super-moist, fudgy brownies garner praise from all assembled, but I was able to make them in one bowl with the most basic of ingredients and at least half my attention on an unusually good television documentary. Job done.

Macarons fait Maison (Hand-made Macarons)

My baking efforts tend to be of the rustic, craggy variety: crumbles, muffins, quick breads and cakes unacquainted with icing. This reflects, no doubt, my own shortcomings in making food look pretty and dainty. To be fair, though, most frilly desserts don’t appeal even when someone else is doing the baking. I can do without the rich fillings and toppings, and I much prefer my fruit inelegantly chunky and my chocolate unadulterated by anything creamy.

The great exception, of course, is macarons, as delicate a pastry as can be found. I’ve long adored eating them (particularly if they come from my favourite shop). But a very unsuccessful attempt, and reports of the difficulties encountered by those far more skilled and experienced, eliminated any aspirations I had to master them at home.

A gloriously messy afternoon spent with an ex-colleague turned serious amateur patissiere didn’t altogether shake my convictions. If anything, the difficulties I encountered piping even circles of egg white-almond batter out of a pastry bag, and spreading ganache over the cooled cookies, reminded me of why I could never earn a living with my hands. My friend was disappointed that many of the macarons cracked in the oven. While not affecting the taste, this was a blow to her ego. And the effort: even with 2 people and an ample supply of baking sheets, it was nearly 4 hours from start to finish.

Yet what an outcome! On the day, they were merely extremely good. But my mid-week, the flavour had become more intense, and the exterior had softened to become gloriously moulleux. Barring the cracks, they were the equal of most available in Paris.

As for Paris, the macaron-baking session took place on one of my last days there. I’m now a Eurostar journey away from ubiquitous pastry shops and free, individual pastry lessons. Though I’ve heard Herme has come to London. And with my new kitchen scales and accurate oven, I suppose I could give the macarons a try. There’s an extra macaron-eater around now too, one who also values taste over appearance.

But did I mention the mess? As extraordinary as the macarons.

Jean-Michael Rochoux

It was a few years ago, standing in the line at Pierre Hermé, that I began to appreciate the ideal of affordable luxury. In Paris, €5 buys several metro rides or a sandwich and soda lunch. Yet, as I quickly discovered, it could also buy three small macarons from the city’s most renowned patisserie, each displayed and selected with the care ordinarily reserved for fine jewels.

My purchase that day comprised perhaps 12 (delicate) bites. Gone within a few minutes, it was sheer perfection.

Paris may not have the monopoly on affordable luxury, but opportunities to enjoy it abound. At even the most elegant cafés, an espresso at the bar doesn’t top €2. The product is the same as that enjoyed at the pricey sidewalk tables, the service and atmosphere often better. Pastry shops are ubiquitous across the capital, and the pricing gap between humble and exquisite surprisingly small. Likely prompted by declining consumption, more restaurateurs and bar owners are making serious wines available by the glass.

In pricey surroundings, where others may be spending five or 10 times more, social discomfort could easily arise . Yet on the whole, small purchases—a few macarons, one or two slices of the most expensive cured meats—are handled with attention and care. This attitude, is I think, both a function of innate respect for the product being sold and a response to patrons’ own level of social comfort. The size of a purchase is rarely explained or justified, as is so often the case when Brits or Americans self-consciously indulge.

I was thinking again about affordable luxury after two recent visits to Jean-Charles Rochoux, an artisanal chocolate maker situated in one of Paris’ most expensive quartiers. Rochoux is famous for his whimsical chocolate sculptures—a man’s torso worthy of Michaelangelo recently graced his window—and truffles. The latter include tiny squares of velvety ganache, lightly dusted with the finest cocoa powder. Packed into a package hardly bigger than a matchbox, 6 of these marvels sell for 3 euros.

Though I was purchasing what was by some margin the cheapest item in the store, the transaction charmed with its attention to detail. Storage instructions were given (though the owner and I agreed that this was unlikely to be an issue), a copious bag was produced for the other items I was carrying and I was escorted to the door as if I had been that day’s big-spender.

Exceptional? Perhaps. But so were the chocolates.

Jean-Charles Rochoux
16 rue de Assas 75006
Metro: Rennes or St Suplice (currently closed)
01 42 84 29 45
Open M 2 :30-7:30; Tu-Sa 10:30-7:30

Merci pour le chocolat

Were any proof necessary that my palate is advancing more slowly than my age, it was amply provided at a chocolate tasting I attended about a week ago. The object of the event was to blind taste bars of bittersweet dark chocolate (70% to 80% cocoa) and record differences in aroma, flavour and texture.

I suspected that I was rather outclassed as soon as I learned that my fellow tasters included a chef and a woman seemingly on first-name terms with all the big name chocolatiers in Paris. I was also a bit self-conscious about the chocolate I brought, two bars of Valrhona. This may considered relatively fancy stuff outside of France, but it's available here in all but the slumpiest supermarkets. It also looked decidedly middle-brow when compared to the heavy, matte paper wrappings of boutique brands like Patrick Roger or Jean-Paul Hevin. Out of its packaging (I had noticed the branding when I picked up a piece to taste), the Valrhona fared little better, appearing a bit waxy and grey and eliciting either non-descript or negative comments from most of the tasters, myself included.*

But leaving aside the fragile state of my ego, the chocolate tasting was interesting for a few reasons. In the private stage of the tasting, I struggled to match what was a surprisingly wide array of tastes to words. The vocabulary I had learned to apply to wine was on the whole of little use here. Although a few of the chocolates were also identified by others as having woody, smoky or bitter-cherry qualities (like the Italian reds I so much like), most of the discernible differences were very difficult to describe with any degree of precision. Surely it's insufficient to say that bittersweet chocolate is, well, bitter.

Later on it occurred to me that while I make an effort to analyze the wine that I drink, I rarely devote comparable effort to thinking about the tastes on my plate. More often than not, I've made the food myself, and it seems a bit artificial to dissect the influences of known ingredients. The result, however, is that I find it hard to figure out why certain things appeal to me, or why a certain dish hasn't come together in the way that I expected. But what I also learned is that--at least at this stage--very focused tasting can take some of the joy out of eating. I appreciated meeting some like-minded people and having the opportunity to try some artisanal brands that I probably would not have bought for myself. But the emphasis on comparing, ranking and criticizing meant that I didn't fully appreciate the embarrassment of riches on the table in front of me.

I'm unlikely to stop scouring books, blogs and discussion boards to find out what is deemed to be the best food that my new, temporary home can offer. And I'm already signed up for this week's tasting of French olive oil, one that is likely to be even more perplexing to my taste buds than my recent foray into chocolate. But in between all of these efforts to learn and master, perhaps the best thing I can do is just enjoy the embarrassment of riches which is eating--and drinking--in Paris.


*Very few Parisian chocolate shops make their own couverture. Most rely on Valrhona, although this is either prepared with an exclusive recipe (as, I am told, is the case with La Maison du Chocolat) or is re-blended and adapted in-house.