bleudauvergne

Everything is generally empty on Thursday night. The weekends see these places completely full. Anyway. The eggs w/mayo were pretty grisly, I just picked the egg pieces off. I ordered them because lately I've had this thing for ordering the cheap things on menus that cost barely anything at all to see what they give you. The bowl of vegetables in their sauce and the meat plus the couscous is what you get when you order a simple lamb couscous. Tunisian style has potatoes. I guess it was alright. I could have gone to another neighborhood place but honestly speaking, I didn't want to blow the cash. It was late when I got there, there were only a couple of people. I suspect these people do most of their business at lunch. The son of the proprietor, a 14 or 15 year old kid with braces took some money from the cash drawer, came to my table to take my order, and then left with friends. His father came out and served my food. I wasn't looking for anything fancy or special in the meal, really. I guess I should have chosen a place full of people. Customers came and went, a lot of people coming through for takeout pastries, and a couple for sandwiches. As couscous goes, this one tasted alright and I'd say it was average for what you get when you order couscous. I went to this restaurant because it's cheap. There are other places (where the food's no better) where you pay double the price for some mood lighting. My meal came to 10€. That was fine with me. There is something about a pool hall that piques my interest. I wonder what stories go on there. Who sits at the Club House Bar? I think it would be a very interesting place to set up a meeting. I used to play pool some nights when I was an art student at the university. I had a steady hand but not enough sense to know where to aim. There was another student, he studied architecture, who would point to where I should aim and we'd clear the table that way. We had a long winning streak several nights in a row that astounded us both.

I just stayed in the neighborhood and had a couscous. There's quite a few in the little micro-neighborhood behind the place de Terreaux (which is the place where Hotel de Ville is and the Musee des Beaux Arts). It's about 4 blocks from my house. On the way home I walked by the theater which has a pool hall in the basement. Being a Thursday night, it was dead but on the weekends they are full. Goodnight all! I'll talk about the brocante and school lunches tomorrow!

I got stuck in a brocante shop on the way home. Therefore tonight is the night I will eat out.

This photo really got me. If you look at it a certain way, it creates the optical illusion that the glass is floating about an inch over the butcher block. I spent a few minutes staring at it, trying to figure out how Lucy got the glass to levitate, and then finally I saw it correctly and felt foolish. ← The first layer is a secret formula kept under lock and key in my safe. But let me tell you, it's magic. The second is actual sea foam from the shores of an island where the whisper walks from coast to coast. The third is a soup bourne of sadness (recipe above). You must say three seperate magic words as you eat each layer with a spoon of gold, and then - POUF - Well, I'm not sure what happens but I'll let you know when it does.

Actually Laksa, That cleaver is really one of my favorite knives. I got it (although it's a Japanese knife) when I was in Beijing and it's gone with me everywhere since. It's the one I take with me when I go visiting with friends because it's really an all purpose knife. You never know who's got sharp knives and who doesn't, so I got in the habit of wrapping up that baby and taking her wherever I go. I can't stand using poorly sharpened cutlery, it's dangerous. I got used to using that one cleaver over the years, everything from delicate deboning to chopping crabs in half. It doesn't need sharpening often and it maintains a really sharp edge all the way up around the edge where you can turn it and it does perform quite intricate work easily depending on how you hold it. I recently got the two Globals, choosing them simply because they felt best in my hand when I was shopping. I love them both too. My kitchen is about the size of a half bath. The floor measures 1 meter by 1.5 meters. It was a closet with a water connection when we moved into the apartment and we had a kitchen installed. It is a lot like a boat kitchen, and we have all kinds of systems to store things in the most efficient way possible. I would never have those knives knocking around in the one drawer we do have, since the drawer is packed to the gills, and everything has it's place. I don't have children (we will one day) but when I do I'll be glad the knives are out of the way. They are mounted above the vitroceramic cooktop, which I use as a prep area with the big wooden board and various small cutting boards before cooking on it. Don't be afraid.

Lunch Rouget and spinach with a cream sauce.

It might be the light... The bread does normally have a rather 'noisette' coloring, like a pain de campagne (country bread). My boulanger lists the type of flours with the breads on display. I think that this one was made with a type 65 flour and may incorporate a whole grain like 'lin' (flax) but the ratio of whole grain is quite low. Their specialty breads are also made with a house levain. The hole structure in the past week or so has been a bit larger, sometimes the hole structure is smaller although it never really has a very dense crumb. The tripe in the style of "Caen" recipe in the ageless old cookbook I've got says to soak it 24 hours and the cook it 7 hours. I suspect that's overkill. Looking for recettes. I'm not sure if the tripes were soaked already, they were clean looking and white, is this how it should be before or after soaking?

I also recently started with the French Press and have a couple of questions. The first time I tried it, I was pressing down and there was a lot of resistance, and then suddenly it gave way and splattered coffee everywhere. Why? It says on the thing to use a coarse ground coffee. What would happen if you used on that had been ground more finely? Is Espresso grind ok to use in a French Press? I am beginning to remember what coffee is supposed to taste like.... Thanks

One regional specialty of Lyon is the quenelle. A recipe for this appears in Julia Child's Mastering the Art of Cooking Volume I. I prepared this recipe with salmon when we were in L.A. before we came to Lyon and we served them to dinner guests. They turned out great. I have not decided whether or not to prepare them myself though since there are hundreds of local artisans that do excellent things with quenelles all within a stone's throw of where I live. What is more artisanal than home made? I don't know. Hmmm.

Good Morning! It is blette, Swiss Chard. At least that's what it was sold as at the market. Ben, I'll cook up the rest tonight, just for you. This morning's breakfast took place rather early. Sissy has been conditioned to associate the smell of coffee with affection and being and talked to, from the days when I was taking coffee in bed and she would come and sit with me. She now comes and sits next to the coffee and purrs. We finally decided to stop using the Italian stovetop espresso pot because the coffee was not tasting good no matter what we did to it. We tried just about everything. I've started with a French press. The one I use every morning cost me 1 euro but it works really well. The results have gotten quite good since I began. The first time was a disaster. You must stir it up and let the coffee soak for a couple of minutes. Then you must press it down slowly, ever so slowly. But the result is very good. Today breakfast was "pain des champs", it has various toasted seeds in the dough. Toast with a liberal smearing of the Villegois, chevre from the cheese plate. It's just about ready to eat and I must make sure to enjoy it now. This was put in the oven for a few minutes to warm it up. I changed the butter in the dish to beurre echiré. I only scraped a very thin tartine on the toast. Here is a photo of the butter. The little bottle next to it is a little drink like a vitamin bottle to build up your natural defenses with cultures, put out by Danone. I like to drink one when I'm not having yougert for breakfast. While I was on the bus to work, a woman was on the phone somewhere behind me on the bus. I hadn't been following her conversation but I found myself involuntarily pulled when she said, "bleu.... bleu..... bleu..... bleu.... bleu." Loudly and persistently over the course of what seemed to be a significant amount of time, repeating only the word "bleu" 5 times. I had thought she was calling me for a moment, I turned my head slightly, thinking, no one would know, how could anyone know? But her conversation continued, perhaps she was choosing some theme for decoration or insisting on the color of a dress, descibing something, I don't know. Her voice melted back into the sounds on the bus. By that time I was alert. It was strange. I looked down at my book and turned the page. There in the page was one of those long paper sticks, wedged in between the pages close to the binding, like the ones they use to keep people from shoplifting. I edged my nail underneath it and pulled it out. In miniscule red copperplate type were the simple words: "complimentary bookmark". This I accept. The first sentences I read on the page were: "You have to begin slowly. Translation allows you to work on the nuts and bolts of your craft, to learn how to live intimately with words. To see more clearly what you are actually doing." I accept these gifts as they are given. There is another woman who rides the bus and this year we had a hat contest. We were the only ones on the bus to wear interesting hats. It began with berets and then we began getting more and more elaborate as the hard cold winter labored on. I ended up the season with a large squarish white sculpted hat from Italy with a brim that looked quite theatrical and the last week of freeze had her solomnly sporting a sculpted burgundy towering mitre that looked absolutely religious. It matched her dark voluptuous lipstick. We are not wearing hats but we both independently chose to wear red shoes today. I do not know this woman and we have never spoken to each other.

Thank you guys so much for the support and encouragement! I'll see you tomorrow!

Ah but that's the secret. They have to be cooked a long time in order to lose the rubberyness. I hope you try it this way, and follow my advice about freezing them first, that also helps.

Thanks Suzi & Zeitoun!! This is the thing. I'm having a little trouble wrapping my mind around this cheval thing. I'm all for respecting tradition and all. The main thing in my mind though, is that if you see a chevaline boucherie, you're most likely going to see a butcher that's from the old school. He's in it because it's his vocation. He's going to be serious. Me too, I'm just a little *gulp* when I see this picture of a pretty horse on the paper my meat is wrapped in, though. I don't know. Maybe I'm just being too sensitive. Maybe I'm afraid I'm going to get horse by accident. He calls his butcher shop "Boucherie Mixte".

Well, dinner was late but it tasted pretty good. I had the rascasse with a couple of stalks of these lovely blettes. But first was the amuse, in which I played with my food. (you will never see a cliche photo like this ever again in the blog. ) After roughly slicing the blettes a giving them about 4 minutes of steam, I folded the filet over them, speared the ensemble with a pick, added a pat of beurre echire and some fleur de sel, and put it in a hot oven for 8 minutes. A squirt of fresh lemon and it tasted like perfection to me. After 8 minutes in the hot oven: I'm so glad I paid the 3 euros for the filet. It was worth every centime. I guess this photo's rather cliche too. Oh well, I'll be back to normal tomorrow. Promise. I think I'll enjoy a glass of wine now.

Cooking...

You know, he did warm up after that. Before I left for work, I had a visit from a colleague who asked if I was going to attend the reception. I forgot about that. If there's one thing I don't like very much it's receptions. But we do what we must do. So I went down at the end of the day. This is catered automatically by the cafeteria of the school. They serve the same thing at every single reception, and it's really terrible. Well, If you've ever blogged before you know the feeling when your camera quits on you because the batteries have run out. I had to run to the corner shop in the last moments they were open to buy some! Yikes! I made it just in time to the butcher at Les Halles de la Martinere. It's a place that has great potential, and is the original location of THE Les Halles which is now located on cours Lafayette. They just did a total rennovation of the site including painting murals of cascading foodstuff along each door. Apparently Monoprix made an offer on the Halle, but the mayor of the quartier refused it, thank goodness. We have 4 vendors there now, as it has been since last summer. One is this butcher. I was feeling rather apprehensive, I don't know why. Maybe it was because I was going to have to ask if I could take pictures. I was looking at the meats, he rarely carries more than a few at a time, mainly because he has to maintain quality. The fact he deals in cheval may put a dent in his business, I don't know. He was cool but polite as I looked over the pickings. I chose some tripe - there was a rather large a piece in a glass bowl. (maybe because I was trying to get up the guts to ask him if I could take his picture.) He was happy to oblige. "How much - The rest?" It was a whole bowl full of tripe. I told him I just wanted enough for one, so he cut off a reasonable looking piece. He asked me how I was going to cook it (good sign). I gave him an idea. He quickly responded - "Then I should cut it for you, yes?" And when I nodded he immediately set to work chopping it up. I paid, €2.30, and asked him if I could take a picture. He smiled and said yes. As he waited on the next lady I took a photo. I next went to the fromagere, who knows me pretty well. They do some things quite well, they have a nice selection of hard cheeses and sometimes get some interesting chevres. I ordered some creme fraiche, which they have a la louche. She's waiting on the next customer. Oh la la I am running late!

I managed to leave the house today without my little USB driver so although I did take pictures of lunch today I will have to come back and put them up when I get home. Today, as is my practice lately, I stopped off in the center of the town where I work. I take the bus each morning to work. It's about 1/2 hour each way these days. I used to leave the house earlier and have less bus time, but my schedule changed. There is a bus that picks me up just near my home and it's a direct ride to the day job. Man, I feel sorry for the people who cannot stop. If they only knew how unproductive they are. Those people who take out their phones and computers at any moment where they have an opportunity. It is now the fashion here in this country to plug the portable device into the ear as if one is plugging directly into the brain. No matter where I am or what I do over the years, I always manage to work in at least an hour of time to think. This is unstructured thinking, floating, waiting, opening my ears and soul. I have become accustomed to it taking place on the bus. In many ways this is my most productive time of the day. I also read from time to time, soak in the rhythms of the greats. Many good recipe ideas and complex story lines have come from this bus time. Don't knock it till you try it. So I got off the bus in Ecully where I picked up a lunch box (I use this name because it's what we used to call them in China) from the traiteur PIGNOL. A traiteur is what the French would call Take Out if they spoke English. They do cater, but they also prepare ready to eat hot and cold dishes and sell them by weight or by portion. Pignol is a local chain, I believe. I chose the Fricasee de Canard aux Olives avec son ble concassee. It was pretty good. That translates to olive duck fricasee with steamed whole grains of wheat. This is better than a sandwich on baguette, the only other thing within a short enough radius from my new office. Lunch took place in my office, which unfortunately happens more and more often these days. I got a promotion and a new office this year. I'm trying very hard to keep my priorities in order.

Hmm, we were on the same wavelength just now ...(twilight zone music)... I'll visit this butcher this evening. He is a purveyor of cheval. His shop is located on my square.

This morning I take stock of what yesterday brought in the blog. After my first day, I come to realize that there have been many other changes in my food world since last years blog. One of the biggest has been my loss of my butcher, Mr. Thermoz, who is mentioned periodically in the last blog. This is the man that I wrote a kind of scary story about in the Daily Gullet. To read the story, click here. What happened? I think I sensed he wasn't going to be around forever and one of my ways of dealing with my feelings last year was to write that story, to fantasize that he was immortal. It’s no big deal, right? Loss of a butcher? Well, let me say he played a really important role in the life of our community. He was the man that supplied hundreds of families with all of their meat, for decades. I only knew him for about a year and a half of daily slicings chops and grindings. This man would stand in his shop and carve an entire carcass of a cow by hand for the world to see. By the time I was really a solid client, I would not consider ever seeking viande elsewhere. He and his wife not only sold me the product of their lifelong vocation, but they dispensed advice about how to prepare it, listened to my ideas, sourced special things, sometimes even made me feel guilty, encouraged me to try new things, were sensitive to my plight, they were friendly and they cared. It was Mr. Thermoz who encouraged me to prepare the Tete de Veau. They took my orders by phone without even asking my name, Mr. Thermoz used to call out to me on the street to tell me that he’d just given my husband “a package”, with a smile. He didn’t tell anyone when he retired. He simply disappeared. One day right around Christmas the shop didn’t open and the sign with his name was covered. I was sincerely worried. Thank goodness my husband ran into him on the street one afternoon soon afterwards, so we knew he was alright, but my husband did not get a chance to not talk to him at all because there was someone working a jackhammer just next to them. They had just shaken hands, Loic says he looked like everything was alright. I was quizzing him about every nuance of the exchange - "I want you to describe what he looked like he was thinking, Lolo. I want you to tell me how many times he blinked, and did he look you straight in the eye while he shook your hand? How about his grip? Strong as ever? Tell me if he continued in the same direction after your encounter or if he walked off in another? Details, my dear. We must know." Loic blandly refused to add any information to his initial "he looked alright". He's such a scientist sometimes. Of course the neighbors began to discuss what happened to Mr. Thermoz, was his wife okay? We got the story from the upstairs neighbor when the men went back to inspect the grate in the courtyard behind the building which we suspect the garage is using to dispose of their used oil. The men were talking about setting up a watch, and our upstairs neighbor, a man who smokes cigars and leaves a trail of cigar smoke lingering behind him wherever he goes, recounted his experience. Apparently the just before closing his doors for the last time, the evening before he retired, Mr. Thermoz said to our cigar smoking upstairs neighbor that if we wanted something for the next day, he’d better get it that day because ‘tomorrow, we won’t be here’. In my mind I imagine that his wife had smiled and nodded in her pink angora sweater, and that was it. He deserves a golden watch. He deserves a historic plaque on the building, actually. Since he left, I have been sort of drifting. I’m a drifter in the local viande scene. I haven’t established a relationship with any one butcher in the neighborhood, and in my neighborhood, there are at least a half dozen. None of them offer offal like he did. I just blow like a leaf on the wind among them, and not one has done anything that especially impels me to become a cliente fidele. Today I am going to stop by one butcher and tomorrow another. I’m trying to make a decision. It’s not so easy. There are a lot of factors to consider. It's not like a cheesemonger, you know. For the cheese I can pick and choose product freely among a dozen, depending on what they do well. It's the way of getting the best cheeses. With butchers it's different, somehow. This is a photo of the same scene that the butcher story was based on, I took the photo yesterday. For comparison:

Some other wines like Muscat d' Alsace (dry or semi-sweet), Chasselas (Alsatian or Swiss), Sherry-like Côte-de-Jura, German Kabinett Rieslings (sometimes verly low in alcohol) or Burgundian/Alsatian bubblers make for great aperitifs. Thanks for the poire eau-de-vie / apple juice suggestion, Lucy. I'm going to try this. ← Good, tell me how it comes out. It is also very good with fresh pear juice, in fact I think it's best with that, but clean clear pear juice is hard to find. You must try and get the clear kind or make your own with a juicer, not the sludge they sometimes sell as juice which is just ground pears, because with the eau de vie somehow curdles the grains in the pears come out and settle on the bottom.

It's a compote, apple / raspberry. This is served with yougert and musili. I am leaving now for work so I'll be checking in later.

Pan, You just have to try it. Thank you M. Lucia, for your encouraging words. Although people don't normally have wine as an aperetif, they do from time to time nonetheless. It depends on where you are and what your restaurant has, I do know French people who have wine from time to time, especially wines like Macon. Chefzadi, we normally have a lot of cheeses, and we eat it daily. I buy what looks good and sometimes I'll search out recipes for cooking with it if it looks like we won't finish it while it's in its prime. Oui oui, madame. Eh? Rich? You can buy a workable one for less than $10 CND ...and a not so bad one for less than $20 ... worth every penny! ← Rich. They cost a fortune over here. I wish I could afford one. Cheap Canon Powershot A30. I usually grow herbs in those pots. I hope you can tell me the name of the flower that's coming up, when it blooms! I'll ask some co-workers today. Whew, you guys stay up all night!

Good night, see you tomorrow!

The cheeses on the plate are as follows: In the center, a wonderful silver dollar sized chevre called the Rocamadour. It's excellent and you should get it nice and soft. 9h00: Brin d'Amour, a Corsican sheeps cheese encased in herbs. 10h00: Roves de Garrigues, Chevre made from the milk of goats fed only herbes of the Garrigues in Provence. 11h00: Last bit of a Beaufort, Alpine cooked hard cheese 12h00: Sliver of Brie de Meaux 13h00: Two types of Tomme de Savoie, Alpine farm cheese 14h00: Hiding behind the leaf there, Salers, from the Auvergne region, a raw milk pressed cheese (not cooked). It's one of my favorites. 18h00: A nice chevre from the Poitou called Le Villegois. Silky creamy, tangy goats cheese that's everything you want it to be, the leaf is a chestnut leaf. Here's a shot of the plate during the day, before the addition of the Salers, but essentially the same cheeses to gice you a better look at them int he daylight. Cheese never really shows up very well at night.

Salad with just a bit of olive oil and salt, followed by the cheese plate.