Leap of Faith: French Bread

You too can make this at home

There is a first challenge that one executes to the best of their ability and in doing so, improves. I have always preferred to those kinds of recipes that we can take elements from, transform, be inspired by, interpret and leap from, freely. I have put effort into research for recipes from the regions and always respect a classic recipe when its the first time I follow it, but I've also come to a certain pleasure in not using a recipe at all, or just being inspired by one.



Baking involves following the rules, all the time. Every time I've been tempted to stray while baking, I ended up with a big mess on my hands. For a time, I convinced myself that baking was fussy. But I think that was a defense mechanism. To give me an excuse for the failed birthday cakes. I have got to get over it. In embarking on these challenges with the Daring Bakers, I face the truth and seek to master a certain fear.



Everyone must face the fear of failure, and push through it in order to grow. In many ways, life happiness depends on our ability to push through it. Pastry is a vocation that actually serves the perfectionist well. If you learn the specific properties of the materials you are working with, how they react to heat and cold, and if you respect them, you can do great things with pastry. If you embrace the rules of the game and spend the time to follow recipes, you still end up victorious. If you can't, you go to the corner bakery or the grocery store and purchase your pastry.



Loic proposed marriage to me on July 3, 1999. I responded yes, with a condition. That he go to America and live as a foreigner for one year before we made the move to France. There had been some talk, I had an inkling that it might not be easy. I had lived in foreign countries before. The difference this time was that I had never moved to a foreign country to live there for the rest of my life. Expats and immigrants have different experiences. I had this idea that any culture shock I endured in France might resonate more deeply this time. I wanted him to understand. So we worked it out, and he chose the city in America, as agreed, where he could experience life together with him as a foreigner, just in case he needed to understand what it was like, you know. He got a post in a research team at UCLA and we made the move.



The first thing I realized once we got him to the States was that it wasn't going to be easy for him. Being in Los Angeles was particularly hard. Some people spend a great deal of time trying to recreate what they left behind. A kind of obsession began to develop on what he was missing and we used that as a springboard for exploring various nooks and crannies in the sprawl of the City of Angels. Pretty much all of our time outside of work was spent trying to fulfill a need for food in the French spirit of things, which was o.k. by me. We got to know the French bakery on Westwood Boulevard. There was a lot of footwork and scheduling involved in getting fresh bread. The more we sought some kind of regular existence, the more Loic realized that our constant long periods trapped in traffic across the expanse of Los Angeles in the course of food seeking missions could not be sustained. (The French feel claustrophobic in cars, not good in L.A.)



He came home to our studio with loft across from the UCLA campus, the one with the dingy whisper of spillover frat parties past and a strong undertone of carpet cleaner that never went away, with a book, in French. It was one that explained the science of bread. The thing he missed the most was the bread. He simply could not make do with what we had available then. At the time, I had spent some time studying in Paris, but not long enough to develop a corporal need for fresh daily bread. Since the air, the water, schedules and budgets could not provide, he began to make his own bread at home.




He kept a large lab book within which he silently noted all of his experiments. He raised levain in a white jar we got at the dollar store, that he kept on top of the refrigerator, carefully tended to and observed. He spent time executing different loaf making techniques. He rolled out of bed before dawn every day to form the loaves and we had hot bread with coffee before I donned my pantyhose, put on my suits and hit the traffic on the 405 in my dinged up 1990 silver Toyota Corolla to bring home some bacon.





Honestly, I had no involvement in the bread making at all back then. None. I wasn't even interested in it. You had to get up too early. He was the man and he made the bread with a book in French. I just ate it in the mornings and loved him. He never even talked about it. We eventually came to France and embraced the boulangerie tradition, by choosing our bakery and proclaiming our fidelity to the one we loved the best. I didn't love Loic any less when he stopped making bread, of course.



In a flash in my mind's eye, I have something that seems like a memory but I know hasn't happened yet. Simple living in a small town somewhere in New York. Maybe in a college town, with lots of books, dark wood, deep snow outside. And French bread baking. It's just an illusion. Just a composition of memories and hopeful emotions tinged with the remorse that comes with missing family. We do have vacations there from time to time. We may be in the need for French bread here and again. This task is quite important to learn, then.

The Daring Baker's Challenge recipe this month was to follow exactly from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume II, pages 57-74, her recipe for French Bread. You can do this at home. Don't be afraid. It is really quite liberating. This challenge was hosted by Sara at i like to cook and breadchick at The Sourdough. To see the results from my fellow Daring Bakers, click here.

South of Perrache: Marché Bayard

Poulet Basque to go at the Marché Bayard

A few years ago a man struck up a conversation with me in what was a rather down and out area just south of Perrache station. I was visiting a poor starving just-promoted-to-saucier friend renting out a studio there by the prison. The man I met on the street outside my friend's place boasted that he was purchasing everything he could get his hands on in the neighborhood. This propriétaire from Paris was brimming with optimism that property value in the area was really going to explode just as soon as they turned the prison into a public garden.

Whiting, which is excellent braised in sparkling wine, looked excellent and was priced quite well.

From the way things looked at the time, I thought he was suffering from delusions, but the truth is that now, 7 years later, it is clear that the city has stepped up to the plate and is cleaning up the area. Our current leadership has made a whole lot of progress and the best is yet to come. The Confluences neighborhood, where the Saone and the Rhone rivers meet, is up for a complete overhaul that will include the building of not only a public garden, but apartment complexes, shopping villages, floating restaurants, an athletic field, and a protected harbor for small boats.



What state is the area in now? A couple of years ago Cours Charlemagne was a mess, because they had dug up the entire avenue to extend the no. 1 tram line down through the area. The Best Western on the street hosted international guests for the World Pastry Cup in 2005 and some of the international team members were stuck there in what seemed to be a post-apocalyptic waste land, forced to pick their way through 4 blocks of road work to get to any public transportation. The fact that they didn't inform the people making reservations from abroad about the work in progress was embarrassing. It was not a very nice introduction to the city of Lyon. But that work is done now, and there is a hint of life back to normal.

The tram line work is done.

A producer's stand at Marché Bayard.

The Marché Bayard is a neighborhood meeting place, where residents come to talk. Knowing this, canvassers for mayoral candidates were out shaking hands this morning. The development project of course is on everyone's mind. What's in it for the people who live here? Improvements to the area have been high profile, for example last year's decision to go in and remove the trucks and campers that had slowly begun to take over the entire riverside on the left bank of the Saone - you know, those trucks with candles burning in the windows... But the extensive work to come also has some residents concerned about their quality of life.



From the smiles at the market, it seems that for now people in the neighborhood are holding on and are enjoying what's good. The market is located just past the church named after the Lyonnaise Sainte Blandine, the early Christian martyr who was fed to the lions in the year 177. The story goes that instead of devouring her as the crowd of Romans expected, the lions sat around her, as if to protect her. The scene is represented in a beautiful bas relief above the doors of the 19th century edifice, something you should check out on the way there, when you get off the tram.

A block down the road, the Marché Bayard sets up on Thursdays and Sundays. This market provides everything the neighborhood needs, with 22 vendors, including a fish monger, two butchers, two sellers specializing in charcuterie, two fromagers with excellent examples of the goodness from neighborhing regions, plus one actual cheese producer from the Savoie selling two unique artisan goat cheeses you won't find elsewhere: a semi-soft bleu and a unique herb infused tomme. In addition to several fresh produce stands, a farmer and his wife sell their fare and free range eggs direct.

Lyon's Outdoor Markets

There are 43 official outdoor markets within the city limits of Lyon. Many many more when you count the suburbs and neighboring towns, which are well connected by metro, bus, and tram to the city center. No matter where you live, there is a regular market within a few minutes on foot where local fresh fare is available for sale, if not every day, at least a few times a week.

Each market has its own draw, sometimes as simple as the goal to provide fresh fare to a neighborhood on a regular basis. Some markets feature only organically grown goods, some restrict their stalls' criteria to be open to farmers only, some spanning for blocks, some as small as three vendors, but each meeting the neighborhood's needs. Some markets welcome sellers of manufactured items on one day of the week, and I plan to document what kinds of gems they have tucked in here and there.

As a chapter in my project to bring the food and wine of Lyon to you, I am visiting every single one of Lyon's outdoor markets during these next few months. I am noting the best way to get to each one, soaking in the vibes, talking to the vendors, observing what similarities the markets share, and noting what each one claims as their own. As Spring unfolds, the pages fill, noting particular attractions, bus lines and metros, schedules and stories, so that the task of choosing will be easier for a traveler or newcomer to Lyon. Of course I'll be taking photos, and each has its own history and clientele.

Embracing the Good

Just as soon as the weather warms up, I will wash the windows.

Majorité des Femmes: Pignol

The rabbit saddle salad at Pignol Bellecour

Brigitte came up from the Var to see us and spend a moment with Anne, who has hit a milestone birthday. I had an appointment at the reading room, so I could only meet them for lunch. I suggested Pignol, because they are very Lyonnais, with plats prepared in a light style like we like them but also that touch of requisite gourmandise. While we enjoyed our meal, we talked about those places that are usually only open for lunch and are host to a majorité des femmes (mostly women)... You know, the places just right for a tête à tête. The ones that are sometimes unmarked from the street and accessed through back rooms or tiny staircases behind pastry shops. The ones that take on a comforting ambient din like cooing doves as we settle in for lunch and discussion. Men are almost always accompanied by a woman in these places. I don't think I've ever seen one on his own in this category of restaurant. Sorry to be sexist but that's just how it is. Anne had the poule au pot with cream sauce, Brigitte the simply seared veal liver served with a nice side of root velouté, and I had the rabbit saddle salad with ricotta. We were forced to choose the larger pastries for dessert (the boy was vague and didn't want to go down to see what they had in the way of mignardises and petit fours). Still thinking of Sevilles, I ordered the tarte à l'orange, which came with a pretty slice of kumquat and a single red currant on top.

Seville Oranges: Vin d'Orange

One of the first home infused aperetifs I experienced in France was Vin d'Orange. My mother-in-law Brigitte does it every year, as did her mother. Where they live, Seville oranges, otherwise known as bitter oranges, grow in a whole lot of people's gardens and the fruit gets passed from hand to hand, distributed out from one person to another throughout the month of January and February. Certain towns in the Var have them growing in the streets. A lot of grocery stores in the cities have them when they come into season, and they turn up at the market as well.

You can ask just about any French person you know if someone in their family does Vin d'Orange, and almost invariably the answer comes back yes. You won't normally find this apéro for sale, people just give bottles of it to each other. The apérétif is strained into bottles after only one month of maceration time. It lasts a really long time, but we usually use up our bottle within a few months after Brigitte gives it to us.

I had been married to Loic for about 2 1/2 years when Brigitte opened up her kitchen notebook to me. She was cooking dinner and I was looking for something to do. I settled in at the kitchen table and began translating my favorites from her own handwritten book. We had a glass of wine together and talked, and I asked questions about this or that recipe. I have since passed this particular recipe on and continue to get letters and notes of thanks from as far away as San Fransisco for it. It originates from Mireille Durandeau of Toulon in the Var, with a few notes from her daughter Brigitte.



My notes on this recipe:
- A kilo of Seville oranges is about 6 or 7 oranges.
- If you don't have eau de vie, you can use any good vodka or anything with 40% alcohol or 80 proof. 1/2 liter is about 2 cups. Remember that this is a simple recipe so try and use something neutral.
- If you don't want to break out the grinder or cringe at the thought of cleaning it, give it a few pulses in the food processor. That's what I do.
- Since Brigitte gets her wine from the co-op at St. Cecile de Vignes, she measures out 2 liters exactly, but for those of us who buy our wine in bottles, you have to use 3 bottles of wine, minus 2 glasses. That means open 3 bottles, pour one glass for yourself and someone else, and use the rest of the wine.
- Use granulated sugar. 750 grams is equal to about 3 1/3 cups.

I post this recipe as an idea for this talented card designer and blogger who shares with us the story of her quest for the Seville orange (her holy grail of the moment) in Vancouver, wherein she finally finds some.

Le Temps des Cerises

In the middle of winter, something of a promise that le temps des cerises is yet to come.

Say cherries and chocolate. Now imagine Alice and her cake. A door opener, something to crave, that box facing Pandora. We went out to the Auvergne to see Aude and Seb's new baby, and for a change of air. Inside the farm house, there is a little newborn, a head still covered with fuzz. We are sitting under the eaves. Aude hands her to me. The baby smiles. I repeat to myself 'It's just gas', but deep inside I think this baby likes me. The connection is a little bit shocking when I look deep into her eyes.

Aude puts her hand on my arm and poses a question that provokes me to cry. She asks me to be the baby's Godmother. Loic and Seb are looking on and one of my tears drops on the baby's face. All I can think of is Little Bunny Foo Foo. "Then Doooowwnn came the Fairy Godmother!" The child is three weeks old and they put her in my arms, and ask if I will accept to be her Godmother. Does life get any better?

I imagine that I will take this little girl out for a snack in the afternoons when she gets to be old enough to sit politely at the table. But since she is only three weeks old, I give you a recipe for a dessert on the menu at a little gem called l'Épicerie, which is a bar a tartines in the 2nd arrondissement of Lyon, back in the narrow streets behind rue Mercière.

When I discovered it, I was enchanted at once. It is one of those cozy little secrets, you know the ones. Now that the new law has put an end to the high school kids smoking there, parents have begun bringing their (well behaved) children in the afternoon. What a treat it must be for them. The place is a feast for the soul. Childhood memories of the fairy godmother kind are being made every afternoon there.

One must begin with the serving dish for this dessert. Since cherries come out in June, extend a happy salute to the idea if not the memory of putting up nice little cozy jars of cherry preserves, and the advent of summer, Le Temps des Cerises. So begin with little jelly or jam jars. Whichever ones you have available. The jars I used were the smallest available, and contain enough room inside for about 3/4 cup, when filled to the brim. Opening the jar is part of the experience of eating this dessert.

Le Temps des Cerises, a house dessert from the bar a tartines called l'Épicerie, in Lyon.

Note on the alcohol: You can omit it if you think that a couple of teaspoons of it per serving will cause damage, but be reminded that there is very little in the end product, after all. The flavor does add to the experience.

Ingredients:
Enough pain d'épices or any kind of spice cake, including speculoos, classic gingerbread, a peppery ginger seasoned spice bread or maybe even crumbled ginger snaps or molasses crinkles to cover the bottom of 6 of these small preserves jars.
A jar of cherries preserved in eau-de-vie (from which you will spoon out 2 dozen), or a mix of 3/4 of a cup of cherry jam with 4 Tbs. cherry liqueur.

For the layer of mousse au chocolat:
one 6 oz. bar or 200 grams of dessert chocolate
4 eggs
1/2 cup or sugar
7 Tbs. or 70 g. butter
a pinch of finely ground salt

For the crème Chantilly:
1 cup heavy cream
2 Tbs. sugar
2 Tbs. Kirsch


Method:
- Layer the bottom of the jar loosely with the pain d'épices or cake. Don't pack it down.
- Mix the vodka or eau-de-vie with the jam, and drizzle four heaping teaspoons of the mix over the pain d'épices or cake in each jar. If you are using the cherries in eau-de-vie, add two or three cherries to each jar, scooping them in with a spoon to soak them with a bit of juice.

Prepare the chocolate mousse:
- Separate the eggs and whip the whites in a big bowl.
- Melt the chocolate and butter in a small bowl set over a saucepan with simmering water in the bottom.
- Remove the bowl of chocolate and butter from the heat and add the yolks and sugar. It will thicken.
- Fold the chocolate mixture into the egg whites.
- It will be the consistency of an airy cake batter. Transfer about 1/3 cup of this mousse into each of the jars over the spice cake and spiked cherries.

Make Chantilly:
-Whip up some heavy cream with the 3 tablespoons sugar until it is stiff but not butter!
- Mix in the Kirsch at the last moment.
- Dollop enough Kirsch scented Chantilly into each jar to fill it.


Add a cherry on top if you are using the cherries soaked in eau-de-vie. Shut the jars and refrigerate them until served. You can prepare them a day in advance.

Even though this dessert is simple and requires no skill in the kitchen whatsoever, I promise you your guests will be astounded by the beauty of it. But don't eat too many, or I may have to turn you into a goon.

Operation Seduction: Neufchâtel Fermier

From the Bray country in Normandy, this cheese is a classic, and one of the oldest coming from the region. Neufchâtel Fermier has been in in the business of seduction for nearly a thousand years, with written reference dating back to the year 1035. They must be doing something right. Currently four farms and two co-ops are authorized to produce the real thing, its name and origin protected by official decree since 1969.

One of the special characteristics of this full fat raw cow's milk cheese, aside from the deliciously provocative shape of the moulds, is the way they coat it with a layer of finely ground sea salt after pressing, a step meant to control the flowering of the mold applied to the outside, a type of penicillin. This step gives a pronounced salty flavor to the cheese.

Neufchâtel Fermier is consumed in its local region as young as 12 days after being pressed, but here in Lyon, we normally see it aged from 1-3 months. Locals like it with cider, or a round wine to compliment the salty taste and bring out the flavor.

Flair Pens, Napkins and French Takeout

Something shifted last week. Maybe it was some planet coming out from behind a cosmic cloud, maybe just a burst of energy. I got sucked into a series of creative visual projects. This happens from time to time. I call it the Flair on napkin effect. My father was a graphic designer. He kept his pocket full of flair pens. He had a special thing for drawing things on napkins, and he used to do a lot of sketching. These napkins were scattered about our house growing up and I used to love examining them. I wish I had saved some of my father's napkins. Sigh.

Now imagine that you wake up one day and suddenly you want to try to tackle a picky detailed project, one that you normally wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Sometimes you just happen to have that pocket full of Flair pens. Sometimes life is a nice big cocktail napkin, just waiting for a drawing. I know myself well enough to know that this doesn't happen very often and to seize it immediately. Fortunately I was in a position to do it over this past week. I cleared the decks for some down time, I put down my schedule, my lists and tasks, and took the phone off the hook. I took some time when I didn't write or research or talk much, time when I just thought about color and form and numbers. I can't say I accomplished anything of great importance. But at least I learned some things, and we ate some good takeout.