Culinary Radar

Eating Paris - Taillevent

2005-02-28T18:36:00.000-08:00

(This post can also be found at our other blog, Waiting for Paris.)

We took the advice of one of our guidebooks, which states that no matter where you eat in Paris, you must allow yourself a single “break the bank” meal at one of the finer haute cuisine restaurants in the city. After doing a little research, we had decided that this meal was to be at Taillevent in the 8th arrondisement.

Taillevent is widely regarded as a “temple of gastronomy” and is ranked by most sources as either the best restaurant in Paris, or tied for best restaurant with a handful of others. We anticipated this meal to be the culinary high point of our Paris trip. Good or bad, outstanding or not, it will have been an accomplishment to eat there.

First, though, we needed reservations. Understanding that the owner prefers to retain a population of 60% French each evening, and not wanting to stumble our way through the reservation process in our broken language, we asked the owner of the apartment that we were renting, Eric, to make the reservation for us, as he was fluent in French. Without hesitation, he soon emailed us and said that we had reservations at Taillevent for 8pm on Friday, October 22.

This evening, after a taxi ride at breakneck speeds through Paris to the 8th arrondisement, we arrived, more than a little late, at the door to Taillevent. Immediately, the establishment’s reputation for service was apparent. We were greeted at the door, and I noticed that one of the gentlemen had a small sheet in his hand, upon which was written the reservations for that evening. They had been waiting for us.

We were shown to our table and given our menus. Immediately, the owner, Monsieur Vrinat, came over, and recognizing us as Americans, offered to translate the entire menu for us and to answer any questions we may have had. He was extremely patient, going through each item and offering to begin again at the top of the menu. As we often do when we want to try a variety of the kitchen’s offerings, we decided to have the tasting menu. We ordered a bottle of wine, which was decanted at our tableside by candle.

The courses:

- Crème de tourteau rafraichie a la coriander -

- Epeautre du pays de Sault en risotto -

- Rouget barbet poele -

- Agneau roti au piment d’Espelette -

- Chevre frais -

- Saint Honore a l’ananas, glace citronnelle -

- Croquant au chocolat et noisettes grilles -

I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I no longer have recollection of each individual dish that was served, other than to say that they were all outstanding. From a food perspective, however, I can honestly say that, while the food at Taillevent was excellent, it is likely matched elsewhere in the city of Paris and for less euro. That being said, I would also submit that Taillevent is unlikely to be surpassed in terms of service and attention to detail.

One would think that, being one of the most highly regarded, historically significant culinary institutions in Paris, the staff at Taillevent would be, to some degree, snobby, stuffy, or overly formal (and arguably, rightfully so). We were very pleased to see that this was not the case at all. From the moment we crossed the threshold into the foyer, our well-being was completely in capable hands. The sommelier, when I had specified how much we had wanted to spend on a bottle of wine, was gracious and accommodating in his suggestion even though our budget precluded the majority of the cellar’s selections. Our bread plates never remained empty for longer than thirty seconds, our napkins were carefully refolded each time one of us would leave the table, and the waitstaff who served us were all personable and appeared to genuinely love what they did.

At the end of the evening, M. Vrinat attended to us and asked us how everything was. We told him that it was one of the best meals we had ever had, and we requested a copy of the menu as a keepsake. Imagine our surprise when M. Vrinat presented my wife not with a copy, but with an actual service menu, which he had personally autographed.

In summary, while there are other places in Paris where you could find food of equal caliber, as far as service is concerned, Taillevent is flawless and definitely recommended for a special occasion (such as being in Paris).

Christmas Cow and Bird

2004-12-25T22:08:00.000-08:00

For a lot of people, the holidays are all about shopping. For me, though, for all of my intentions to finish Christmas shopping ahead of time, I always end up leaving it until the last week before the big day. The things that occupy my mind in the days leading up to Christmas all revolve around holiday food.

This year, on Christmas Eve, I was tasked to roast a 7.1 pound black angus prime rib which my brother had dutifully purchased and brought down from Massachusetts. Three ribs in total, the rib roast was not overly impressive in length, but more than made up for it in girth.

Electing to allow the flavor of the beef to be the showcase of the meal, I wanted to keep the preparation fairly simple and straightforward. Starting with a thickish layer of Maille dijon mustard, I then coated the mustard-glazed roast with an even layer of salt and ground black pepper. I chopped fresh thyme leaves and garlic into a paste and massaged it into the roast; after seeing how much thyme I still had, I chopped some more and added it as well, until I could no longer feel the mustard when I pressed on the blanket of chopped thyme.

Starting early in the day meant that the roast had plenty of time to cook before it had to be served. As a result, I set the oven temperature to a steady 350 degrees, ensuring the accuracy of the oven temperature by using a backup thermometer. I inserted our trusty probe thermometer halfway into the roast at its thickest part and put it into the oven.

More than any other factor, a slow temperature is the reason for the success of any prime rib roast. Roasting at a low temperature allows the core of the roast to come to the proper temperature while keeping the outer portions from becoming overcooked. After about three and a half hours, the roast emerged from the oven, its herb crust crisp and darkened, and was immediately cloaked in foil to begin its rest while the other components of the meal were finished. Letting the roasting pan rest across two burners on the stovetop, while the raging fires of the other burners and the oven took care of such accoutrements as potatoes, biscuits, bearnaise sauce, and vegetables, made sure that the rib roast didn't cool too quickly.

When we finally did carve the roast, we were rewarded with wonderfully rare beef that we sliced thinner at first, then a couple of thick steaks encompassing the ribs. We served the beef with two sauces – one, a homemade béarnaise, and the other a horseradish and sour cream concoction.

The next morning, we drove back home, opened the presents that we had stashed under our own tree, and started on our Christmas dinner, a 14 pound turkey. Loosening the skin from the breast meat, I spread a layer of soft butter mixed with chopped sage under the skin. Coating the outside of the turkey with olive oil, sea salt, and ground black pepper, I roasted the turkey at 350 degrees for about three hours or so. I have to admit, using a probe thermometer means that I never pay attention to how long things roast anymore.

As an accompaniment, I also made a giblet gravy. Taking the bag of unidentifiable turkey inner bits, I sautéed the contents in a small amount of oil, adding chunks of carrot, celery, onion, and some thyme leaves. Covering the pot for about twenty minutes over low heat allows the vegetables to “sweat”, releasing their flavors into a small amount of intense liquid at the bottom of the pot. A quart or so of water and a couple of hours of simmering finishes the stock base.

This was the first time I had tried making a roux-based gravy, and now it’s the only method I use. Into a separate pan go four tablespoons of butter over medium-low heat. Once melted, add ¼ cup of flour and start whisking (the flour will clump up with the melted butter at first, then begin to loosen). After a few minutes, the roux will have become a rich roasted peanut color and have a warm, toasted aroma from the cooked flour. A little at a time, whisk in the strained stock base until all of it has been incorporated, then simmer for a few minutes to thicken.

And so, that afternoon and evening, the two of us spent our Christmas Day together, making our way through the roast turkey and browsing through our cookbook collection looking for ways to use the leftovers. One day, when I get around to it, you may even see a report about our subsequent turkey tetrazzini in this space.

Jimmy Buff's Italian Style Hot Dogs

2004-12-23T12:00:00.000-08:00

When I was in 6th grade, one of my friends raved about this hot dog place called Jimmy Buff’s Italian Style Hot Dogs in Irvington, New Jersey that he went to with his mom. Since then, I have driven by Jimmy Buff’s countless times, catching a glimpse of it from the corner as I turned the steering wheel the opposite way.

Twenty one years after first hearing about it, I finally made my inaugural visit to Jimmy Buff’s, liking it so much that I insisted on stopping there on Christmas Eve Eve to indoctrinate my wife on the philosophy of the Italian hot dog.

When you walk into Jimmy Buff’s, drop all pretensions of highbrow and lowbrow cuisine; this is truly nobrow food. I liken it to the cheesesteaks that we have here in Philadelphia – it is food that, if you are an out of towner, you cannot fathom how someone could possibly put something so ungodly unhealthy into their mouth.

And then you take a bite. And oh, but it’s so good.

Jimmy Buff’s has greasy yellow walls and a few tables. The centerpiece of the setup, though, is the large rectangular pit of oil. Shallow at one end and sloping downwards, like a swimming pool, the pit has a pile of potatoes, peppers, and onions sitting forlornly waiting for an order . Once you place your order for a hot dog (or a double, which you do once and then never again), the cook takes a hot dog or two and drops them into the hot oil at the deep end, which begins to bubble and hiss furiously. Then, using a spatula, the cook drags a whole mess of potatoes, peppers, and onions into the oil to join the hot dogs.

After a few minutes, the cook takes a half loaf of round Italian bread and splits it down the middle. Using a spoon (with no slots, mind you, because we wouldn’t want to lose any of that grease), he then proceeds to slop the boiling hot contents of the greasepit into the bread, finishing the assembly with a generous squirt of ketchup and spicy mustard. It is a mountain of cardiac destruction, but a delicious one at that.

The final product, whether you are having it wrapped in foil or eating it right there, is guaranteed to stay hot for much longer than you can resist its greasy charms. A fork is an absolute necessity, as stuff will fall out during your attempts to eat it.

The Jimmy Buff’s in Irvington has been there for 41 years, but is actually an offshoot of the original location in Newark, which started over 70 years ago. Other locations include East Hanover and Scotch Plains.

Jimmy Buff's Italian Style Hot Dogs
4 Elmwood Ave
Irvington, New Jersey 07111
973-375-9883

Chocolate Chip Cookies with Dark Muscovado Sugar

2004-11-29T16:43:00.000-08:00

I think the downward spiral in our one-item Whole Foods sidetrip began when I spotted the bricks of Dark Muscovado Sugar tantalizingly arranged at the end of one of the aisles. Having just depleted our supply of couscous, we figured we’d do a quick run into the brand new Whole Foods market in Princeton, which we have passed many times when it was under construction.

Whole Foods occupies the space that was formerly Pathmark, and I fully expected the new store to be Pathmark-sized and Pathmark-shaped. I was completely wrong. As it turns out, Whole Foods not only bought the Pathmark space, but also the adjoining Zany Brainy space, and now the Princeton location is the largest Whole Foods market in the country. It is an amazing and wonderful sight to behold.

So, a trip to Whole Foods to buy couscous instead resulted in the muscovado sugar sighting, which led to a craving for chocolate chip cookies, which led to Ghirardelli chocolate, which led to butter…you get the idea. Plus, being so overwhelmed by the space, and having just returned from Paris, we made the additional mistake of taking a look at the cheese selection. Mr. Bleu Chevre, meet Tomme de Savoie. You guys will be staying in my fridge tonight. Oh, and have you met Mr. Saint Nectaire? He’s from Paris, he’s been here for a week already, but we’re seeing less of him every day.

By the way, Whole Foods didn’t have the couscous we wanted.

But, I give you this:

Chocolate Chip Cookies
(adapted from a recipe from Cook’s Illustrated – The Best Recipe)

2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
12 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 cup dark musovado sugar, packed
½ cup granulated sugar
1 large egg plus 1 yolk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
milk chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt together and set aside.

Mix butter and both sugars until thoroughly blended. Beat in egg, yolk, and vanilla. Add dry ingredients and mix until combined. Blend in chocolate chips.

Arrange dough on cookie sheets and bake for 15 to 18 minutes, or until done to your liking.

Eating Paris - La Taverne Du Sergent Recruteur

2004-11-03T17:55:00.000-08:00

(This post can also be found at our other blog, Waiting for Paris.)

After having received the keys to the apartment and napping for a couple of hours, the effects of the shared ham and cheese crepe that we had eaten from the street vendor had subsided. Hungry and excited at the prospect of our first night out in Paris, we walked to Ile St. Louis with the expectation of eating at Au Gourmand de L’Ile. After trekking across the bridge to the island, however, we realized, in consulting the guidebook for the street number, that Au Gourmand de L’Ile is closed on Mondays.

We began wandering the streets of Ile St. Louis and happened upon an attractive row of bistros. Examining each restaurant’s posted offerings, we met a man smoking a cigarette outside of La Taverne du Sergent Recruteur who, as luck would have it, had also ventured out onto the island to eat at Au Gourmand de L’Ile, found it closed, and was now eating here. He smiled as he took a drag on his cigarette, “It’s pretty good in here.” We did not need any further encouragement.

The hostess, a pretty woman in red, greeted us warmly and immediately showed us to a table. Recognizing us as Americans, she presented the menus and explained, in English, that our only responsibility was to select our main entrees. I chose the boeuf bourguignon, and Jennifer went with the entrecote frites (steak and fries) accompanied by a béarnaise sauce.

As Jennifer stepped away from the table, one of the waiters arrived with a basket of saucisson and a second basket filled with various items of farm fresh produce, in addition to freshly sliced bread. In an interesting and amusing turn, he then presented me with a wooden cutting board and a knife. The waiter also set down a plate of thick country pate and a bowl of cornichons. Jennifer came back.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a basket of sausages. I think we can have as much as we want.”

And with that, I proceeded to slice samples off of each of the more than six types of saucisson, and through trial and error we discovered which casings were edible and which were not. Along the way, the hostess presented us with a bottle of the house red wine, telling us that we could have all the wine we wanted, as it was included in the price of the meal.

After having our fill of saucisson, and not even taking of the basket of vegetables, the waiter removed the baskets and a small tureen of autumn vegetable soup was brought to the table. The soup was a simple puree of mixed vegetables and stock, thick and hearty. It is very good that we were very hungry.

After the empty soup tureen was cleared from the table, we had some time to take in our surroundings. The bistro draws inspiration from a rustic medieval tavern, soft light adorning walls made from rough stone, curved archways, and a suit of armor overlooking the bar by the front door. Diners sat at heavy tables made from dark wood, with parties ranging from intimate couples to boisterous crowds of eight or more.

Our entrees soon arrived. The boeuf bourguignon presented itself beautifully – a single steak, stewed until was tender enough to cut with a fork, set in a pool of sauce of deep burgundy wine. Accompanied by tender sautéed green beans and some of the most wonderful potatoes I have ever had, the beef proved to be exactly the kind of entrée that I would have wanted as my first meal in Paris.

Jennifer’s entrecote, a hand-sized portion of grilled steak paired with fried potato wedges, was launched into the realm of phenomenal by the small cup of béarnaise sauce that came with it. Having always known béarnaise sauce as a rich accompaniment that was poured over steak, being faced with the true item in Paris was a different experience altogether. This béarnaise, rather than resembling a sauce, was more like mayonnaise – thick, specked with tarragon, and spread luxuriously across each bite of steak just before eating.

The next course was our introduction to a standard part of Parisian bistro fare – the cheese course. The hostess brought a plate of assorted cheeses to our table, consisting of six different pieces of camembert, brie, and bleu cheese. Just as we did with the saucisson, we worked our way around the plate, rotating and slicing and sampling each cheese with the remainder of the bread. When we had had our fill of the cheese course, the hostess returned with our menus so that we could make our dessert selections.

I chose the selection of chocolate and coconut ice cream, and Jennifer selected the crème caramel. The ice cream, which was exceptional, was surpassed by the crème caramel, which consisted of a creamy custard covering a layer of deeply caramelized sugar. When mixed together, the combination of flavors was astounding.

La Taverne du Sergent Recruteur, fortunately, turned out to be a very good random pick for us. Between the friendly reception, the copious amount of hearty food, and the wonderful feeling of having finally arrived in Paris, the bistro will always be a warm memory of the start of an amazing journey.

New York Chocolate Show

2004-09-22T13:44:00.000-07:00

I know exactly one person who does not like chocolate.

For the rest of humankind, I would recommend the 7th Annual New York Chocolate Show, which is coming to Manhattan in November.

Held in the Metropolitan Pavilion on West 18th, the show is a world's fair for the chocolate industry. Imagine all of the major players in the chocolate industry, from America, France, and as far away as Japan, all showcasing their products, with free samples and products for purchase.

Last year, we picked up a tin of MarieBelle Aztec Hot Chocolate. It has a deep, earthy flavor, with a hint of spice, and is so rich that we've taken to serving it in demitasse cups. We met Jacques Torres, and purchased a cup of his hot chocolate, which was essentially a coffee cup filled with melted chocolate, barely pliable enough to drink.