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Accidental Hedonist covers food from the ground up. She explores recipes and ingredients and talks about food politics and business practices.
Thanksgiving is my mother’s favorite holiday. It’s always been a big deal in my family, and Thanksgiving day was a major production when I was growing up. We never had anyone outside our immediate family at dinner, so my mother did everything. She started early and only stopped long enough to have a freak-out sometime in the middle of the afternoon. Like any self-respecting Sicilian woman who grew up in the 20s, she thinks it’s wrong to make your husband do anything other than pour the drinks and carve the turkey. The turkey carving is legendary in my family. As soon as the turkey came out of the oven, she would tell my father to get ready to carve the turkey. He was usually busy pontificating about some thing or another, and generally ignored her for at least 30 minutes. He would eventually stroll into the kitchen, get out his knife sharpening tools, sharpen the knives, pour himself a beer, move the turkey to the carving plate, walk around it and poke at it for several minutes, inspecting it for – something? – then with great flourish, start carving. My mother would stand six inches behind him, peering over his shoulder and telling him he was doing it wrong. He would make a comment about how she also likes to tell him that he’s brushing his teeth the wrong way. When she suddenly remembered that she still had to make the mashed potatoes, she would walk away, rolling her eyes and grumbling about how it takes him forever to do anything. When we sat down to eat, my mother would announce that she had to try to turkey first to be sure it was OK. One bite and she would proclaim it dry and tasteless. That’s when it was officially Thanksgiving dinner. Once we were all adults, Thanksgiving pretty much continued in this manner, except she let my eldest sister Catherine make the mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and pumpkin pies. Then Logan and I bought a house in 1998, and I wanted to have dinner at our place. My mother was getting older. Thanksgiving had been wearing her out for years. Two of my nieces were married and had kids, and the number of people at dinner had gone from 6 to 17. My mother’s house is small and nieces’ kids were young and loud. However, winning a fist fight with Chuck Norris was easier than wrestling Thanksgiving away from her. Even as I tried to convince her that it was best for everyone if we had dinner at our house, I understood that taking it away seemed disrespectful. Thanksgiving was what she did, and suggesting it was too much for her to handle made her feel useless. When she refused to give me her stuffing recipe, and said she wasn’t sure I knew how to make decent gravy (seriously, being the youngest always means you’re incompetent, even when you’re 42 years old.), I asked her if she would make the stuffing and help with the gravy. Having never cooked a turkey before, I also needed her to tell me exactly how to do it. That essentially put her in charge, and she finally gave in. We had dinner at our house the next year too. Both years I followed her rules to the letter. With my mother making the stuffing and delivering it to me on Wednesday, my sister making what she always made, and my nieces bringing their own special side dishes, I’m not kidding when I say all I had to do was stuff and cook the turkey, bake bread, set the table, and start the gravy. Of course, my mother was standing 6 inches behind me, peering over my shoulder, and telling me what I was doing wrong. At some point, I just handed the spoon to her and let her finish, which I’m sure was her plan all along. Logan and I moved to North Carolina in 2000, but continued to go back to Pennsylvania for the next three years. In 2004, we couldn’t make it up to PA, and I decided to have my Thanksgiving orphan friends over. Like my mother, I think it’s gauche to invite people to dinner and expect them to bring food, but everyone wanted to contribute. I’m famous for being a control freak in the kitchen, but I’m not stupid. I knew I couldn’t stop them from bringing food even if I wanted to. This will be my fifth year hosting Thanksgiving. After going completely traditional the first year, I swore I would never do it again. Too many things have to be done at the last minute, and I’m all about cooking ahead as much as possible. One year I made osso bucco; the next I made Italian food. Even then, there were hints of a traditional meal, and I think you just can’t get away from it. This year I’m back to a standard meal. I’m even making mashed potatoes, which 1) I hate to make; and 2) I’m not a fan of. I always start out saying it’s going to be just a small group – no more than 10 – but by Thanksgiving morning, the guest list has grown to at least 15. It doesn’t matter. We have enough food to feed all y’all. I start planning early. I use a spreadsheet for the menu, guest and shopping lists, and a timeline. People laugh at me for this, but it’s the only way to keep organized. The timeline is crucial. If I know I want to take the turkey out at 6 PM, I can figure out when it has to go in the oven. Work backwards. It’s as close to foolproof as you can get. Some of my friends think I’m a little – uh – stringent about Thanksgiving. They’re not wrong. I do have rules. My standard party rules always apply: No barfing (it’s happened) No fighting (it’s happened) Don’t let the cats out the front door (my guests are darned lucky that hasn’t happened) Stay the hell out of our bedroom (it’s happened) Variations like “barfing on or fighting with the cats in the bedroom” are also frowned up. I do ask a few things of my Thanksgiving guests. I want to know what they’re bringing, and that includes extra people. I always say yes, but I need a headcount. And my cooking area is small, so I expect them to do all prep work at home. There are no rules about when we eat. I always shoot for a time, but I seldom make it. I’m usually running late, and if my friends are having fun just hanging out around the table, eating marinated olives and spiced nuts, I’m not moving on to dinner until they’re ready. Unlike my mother, I think it’s fine to expect my husband to help. I’m half Sicilian, but I’m also half Irish. No one can whip her men into shape like an Irish woman. Logan does all the cleaning, and I informed him this year he’ll be peeling the potatoes and the carrots. He also does manly stuff like carry the extra chairs down from the attic, and build a fire in the fire pit after dinner. I absolutely couldn’t do this without Logan. He’s my right arm, and he keeps me from having a meltdown sometime in the afternoon. I also couldn’t do this without my friends, and that’s not only because they bring food. I want Thanksgiving to be loud and crowded. If it weren’t, it would be just Thursday, and I’d be watching a Twilight Zone marathon on the Sci-Fi channel. Especially now, when I don’t socialize often, having my friends around me makes me feel whole. They’re an awesome bunch of people. When we inevitably run out of clean forks, someone washes the dirty ones. If they have dietary restrictions, they take responsibility for them. I hate to make my friends work for their dinner, but they’re always ready to help me. Even so, Thanksgiving at my house doesn’t look like a layout in Gourmet magazine. It’s too messy and raucous. If I saw my friends wearing pearls and cashmere twin sets, I would be sure I’d taken too many pain killers that day. What it does look like is a crowd of people who don’t want to be anywhere else. Not because dinner is at my house, but because of the energy and the fun my friends generate. It makes me miss my family less. I hope all of you have the kind of Thanksgiving you want to have. It doesn’t have to live up to a fantasy. It just has to make you happy.
You! Yes, you! The one who claims to have an allergy to certain foods in order for the restaurant to make you a special version of the dish without the hated ingredient. Stop that insidious behavior right now. In reading the comments of Michael Ruhlman's post pertaining to culinary sissies, there seemed to be a fair amount of people who stated that it was there right to have ingredients that they disliked out of their order, even if it meant that they had to deceptively state that they were allergic to said product. In my opinion, these are the worst sort of customers, using a fake illness as a pretense to get what they want. A distinction should be made between restaurants here. I'll concede that many mid-level and lower-level restaurants make it policy to alter dishes to fit the need of a specific customer. Removing onions from a salad, or asking them to not put ketchup on a hamburger is part of the restaurant/customer agreement. But at some point, this behavior becomes unseemly. At some point, the chef becomes the center of the show, not the customer. A great deal of time and energy has gone into making a dish into a very specific manner, and requesting a version without a specific ingredient is akin to asking for a entirely new dish. Additionally, if a kitchen allows for making a new dish for one, then they have to make that an option for all. Changing one dish may not be a problem. Changing ten becomes more problematic. So what are your options if you don't like, for example, onions, and see Chicken Marsala with Charred Onions on the menu? Either order the item as is, or move on to the next menu option. I'm sure that this plays into the larger issue of ego-centrism that permeates our society. But if I delve too deeply into this aspect, I'll rant and rave myself hoarse without talking about food, and none of us wants that. But what it really comes down to is this: True allergies aside, there is only one correct response when Thomas Keller offers you a bowl of sea urchin soup, even if you don't like sea urchins. That answer? "Yes, please!" Because it's Thomas-effin-Keller offering you a bowl of soup.
Every time I burn cookies (and yes, it does happen from time to time), I start thinking about what caused the recipe to go awry. In order to do this, one needs to understand what role each ingredient plays in creating a consumable structure (yes, I went there). Adding to the complexity of the cookie is the fact that it is a baked product. As anyone in the back kitchen of a restaurant will tell you, there is quite a difference between cooking over the stove and baking in the oven. For the most part, stove top cooking allows for a great deal of improvisation (With notable exceptions of course. A fair amount of French sauces, for example). Baking seems to be at the far end of the spectrum, requiring not just precision of ingredients, but precision of timing. Change the ingredients of a cookie recipe, and one must consider the amount of time the cookies must be baked in the oven. This is where I typically make my mistakes. Due to this relationship between ingredients and baking time, I thought it best that I understand exactly the reasons why certain things belong in certain cookies. I could have done this exercise with any cookie, but felt the Toll-House Cookie was one that most everyone could relate with. The ingredient list looks as follows: 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour 1 teaspoon baking soda 1 teaspoon salt 1 cup (2 sticks, 1/2 pound) butter, softened 3/4 cup granulated [white] sugar 3/4 cup packed brown sugar 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 2 eggs 2 cups (12-ounce package) NESTLE TOLL HOUSE Semi-Sweet Chocolate Morsels 1 cup chopped nuts There are flaws in this ingredient list, which should be recognizable by anyone who does a fair amount of baking. Namely, the ingredients are measured by volume, rather than by weight. With cookies, this may not be an issue (unless one is cramming flour into their cup containers), but it is something of which a baker should be aware. But as I am not making these cookies, merely examining the ingredients, I'll let it slide...for now. The Dry ingredients Flour: According to Harold McGee and his book On Food and Cooking flour brings, flour brings to the table both proteins and starches. When moisture is added to flour and then baked, the end result is a mesh-like structure that McGee calls a gluten network. The threads of the network are made from the protein glutenin. These threads are quite elastic, and depending upon the other ingredients in the batter, can lead to the chewiness of the batter. Coating these threads is another protein called gliadin, which help gives plasticity to the batter. In cookie dough, these proteins are less apparent for a variety of reasons, mostly due to the type of flour used, but for other reasons as well. But proteins only make up 10% of any type of flour. The bulk of flour's composition, nearly 70% worth, comes from starch. Starch is what falls between the threads of the gluten network, sucking up any moisture that comes its way. As it holds moisture, it also is responsible for the moistness of the cookie, and helps set the cookies structure as it bakes. The starch also tenderizes the any gluten structures during baking, ensuring that the end cookie is chewy, but not rubbery. Baking Soda: This is the leavening agent that provides the carbon dioxide bubbles that helps makes the cookie softer or tender. Think of it as the gas that goes into a balloon. The more gas created, the larger the balloon (and the perception that it's also lighter). Too much gas and ...well...just be careful with the leavening agent. So why Baking Soda and not some other leavening agent? Baking Soda is an alkaline base, which works to balance out the acidity of the molasses found in the brown sugar. Salt: While salt can be tasted and can be considered a bit of a flavoring agent, its real role is that of a binding agent. As McGee puts it "The electronically positive sodium and negative chlorine ions cluster around the few charged portions of the glutenin proteins, prevent those charged portions from repelling each other, and so allow the proteins to come closer to each other and bond more extensively". Or as I put it - Were you ever part of a group of friends who got along famously, and loved one another. Then one of the friends moved away, and the rest started fighting amongst themselves and finally stopped seeing one another? That friend that initially moved away that seemingly held the group together? Yeah, they were the salt of the group. The Wet Ingredients Butter: The fat of the cookie, and lubricates the solids of the flour and sugar, encouraging them to slide apart and spread out. Depending on how thin or thick you want your cookie depends on how much butter you add. Oh, and butter is also 15% water, so it does add moisture which the starch and sugar both are more than willing to suck up. Granulated Sugar: Wait, sugar is a wet ingredient? It is if you cream it with the fat (which is what this recipe calls for). Adding sugar to fat creates air bubbles, which in turn gives texture to the cookie when combined with the flour. Speaking of the flour, sugar combined with heat is added to starch, starch reaches its gelatinous boiling point sooner rather than later. This is likely the bit that gets to burning if left in the oven just a little too long. However, controlled well, it will also make the cookie a bit crisper (and drier). Oh, and it adds sweetness as well. Brown Sugar: Same as the granulated sugar but with the added benefit of adding the slight, deep, dark flavor of the molasses. This adds acid as well which needs to be cut by the baking soda, so it's a trade off of sorts. Vanilla Extract: Adds a slight bit of moisture and a whole lot of flavor. And what a flavor it is. In this recipe, the brown sugar, the vanilla, and the chocolate are the Holy Trinity. Eggs: This gives the majority of the moisture to the cookie dough. The proteins of the eggs help bind the proteins of the flour to one another. If you want a more cake like chocolate chip cookie, use egg yolks only. Chocolate Chips: It's the star attraction, the headlining act, the reason everyone comes to the show. The flavor. But don't discount the type of chocolate chip, as (depending on the chip) you can have one that melts into a gooey glop of pure heaven, or one that retains its chip shape. Nuts: I prefer my chocolate chip cookies sans nuts, but as it's part of the recipe, they should be accounted for. Flavor certainly plays a part, but don't forget that the nuts also provide a bit a structure to the cookie, as well as altering the result mouthfeel. I'd also hazard a guess that a bit of oil is added when you through in some nuts, enough to add a bit of additional flavor but not enough to really make that big of a difference baking-wise. This was fun for me. I'll have to do this again with other recipes.
Pot Pies The "pot pie", with its pastry crust and thickened meat-and-vegetable filling, has a long history in western Europe. It was common in the Middle Ages to fill a pot pie with meat, vegetables, and fruit (usually berries). As this dish migrated to America, the fruit disappeared and carrots, peas, onions, potatoes, and celery became the staple ingredients. Whatever the composition, the pot pie is often found at holiday meals and is a great wintertime comfort food. I searched the web for some of the best vegetarian pot pie recipes I could find and picked a few of the most outstanding. If you have to accommodate a vegetarian at your dinner table in the coming weeks, a pot pie makes a delicious and hearty main dish that can be made using familiar ingredients and techniques. As always, if you have a favorite recipe please post it in the comments! Tofu Pot Pie Everyday Thanksgiving Tofu Pot Pie -- This recipe uses common vegetables, plain tofu, and even suggests a store-bought crust. Instructions call for individual pies and they look absolutely delicious. Yum. Preparation time is less than 1 hour. Tofu Pot Pie -- Another great looking recipe that is a bit more basic than the first. Preparation time is also less than 1 hour. Veggie-Only Pot Pie Meg's Best Veggie Pot Pie -- This is about as simple as it comes. The comments give it rave reviews. Preparation time is less than 1 hour. Cheesy Pot Pie Goat Cheese Vegetable Pot Pie Recipe -- If you require a gluten-free pie, check out this recipe. It's a little bit more involved but I like the addition of goat cheese and the biscuit-style crust. Preparation time is less than 1 hour. Fake Meat Pot Pie Vegan Chickn Pot Pie -- For the more adventurous cook, see this recipe. It calls for some less common ingredients, but the upside is that they walk you through the entire process step-by-step with pictures. The results look absolutely marvelous. If you're looking to really delight the vegetarian in your household this is the recipe that I would recommend. Preparation time about 90 minutes. Seitan Pot Pie -- Another recipe for a fake meat pot pie, this one calls for mixed frozen veggies and fresh asparagus and mushrooms. An interesting twist of flavor from a straightforward recipe. Preparation time is less than 1 hour. Mushroom Pot Pie Portobello Pot Pie -- I'm a big fan of mushrooms, so I had to add a separate category just for this one. It includes not one but two varieties of shrooms. De-li-cious. Preparation time is less than 1 hour. Variations Pot pies are very forgiving. In addition to the standard ingredients mentioned in traditional recipes, don't forget to try adding any of the following: tempeh, lentils, garlic, leek, green onion, corn, broccoli, cabbage, spinach, kale, chard, sweet potatoes, beets, green beans, chickpeas, okra, squash, your favorite cheese(s), thyme, sage, basil, cumin, oregano, or nutritional yeast. Invent your own pot pie and have fun :D Thanks to Flickr user QuintanaRoo for the pot pie photo below. See you next week! . . . . . Now Playing: Gira: Me Verás Volver by Soda Stereo. Ben is a graduate student at NCSU studying Crop Science with an emphasis on Sustainable Agriculture. Official foodie credentials are non-existent, other than the fact that he has been cooking for himself since he was 12 years old. You can find his personal blog at bengarland.com, photos and videos at bengarland's Flickr photostream, and his plans for a self-constructed earthen home and organic farm over at Our Farm Adventure.
Ever since I had carrot ginger soup at Samuel's, I've had a hankering for the dish. Samuel didn't have a firm recipe but he told me he swapped green pepper for celery in the mirepoix, thickened it with a rouxe and then added full cream. I was sorely tempted to do a full-on, ginger-laden, high-fat version like Samuel's. But when Jackie Newgent's The All-Natural Diabetes Cookbook hopped off my shelf and suggested I try a gentler, more waistline-friendly version I listened. Half my family can't take any heat beyond a nod towards the pepper grinder, and we are learning to make healthier versions for the dieters and diabetics in our midst. I'd like to complain but there will be plenty of sweets and gooey, drippy, cheesy appetizers as we march towards the holidays. So, I gave Carrot-Ginger Potage a try. Potage is the French term for a thick pureed soup. This one is thickened with potatoes, not the usual cream. I would use chicken stock instead of water for a more layered result, but realize the author was keeping the sodium content down. (Confession time: Being a ginger junkie with ingredients to spare, I also made a quick ginger and carrot saute as a side dish that would have been too much for unnamed family members. Drop by if you're a serious ginger fan.) As suggested in the cookbook's sidebar, I added a half tin of fat-free evaporated milk. For the spice-fearing members of my family, I skipped the hot sauce, but highly recommend it for people who like a bit of warmth. The recipe produced a delightfully smooth soup that's light and fresh. After a month of sugar cookies and baked brie, this dish will be a more than welcomed change of gastronomic pace. Carrot-Ginger Potage Serves 4 2 tsp unsalted butter 1 lb baby carrots 1/2 cup sliced celery 1 1/2 cups sliced yellow onion 1 tbsp grated fresh ginger 2 medium Yukon gold potatoes, peeled and sliced 5 cups spring water 1/2 tsp sea salt, or to taste 1/4 tsp hot pepper sauce, or to taste Directions 1. Melt the butter in a stockpot or extra-large saucepan over medium heat. Saute the carrots, celery, onion and ginger for 5 minutes. 2. Increase the heat to high and add the potatoes, water and salt. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer, uncovered for 25 minutes, or until the potatoes and carrots are very tender. 3. Use a hand blender to puree the soup right in the pot. Or puree the soup in batches in a blender, reheating in a clean pot over medium heat. (See the "hot fill" line on your blender container for guidance, if available.) Add hot pepper sauce to taste and serve hot. Recipe is © 2007 American Diabetes Association From The All-Natural Diabetes Cookbook Reprinted with permissions from The American Diabetes Association Available at all leading book stores and on-line retailers.
Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull offers his own Indian Food Guide. Wagner, Beethoven and Hendrix might have chanced the Vindaloo but Mozart, Debussy and John Denver were probably Korma or, perhaps, Dhansak guys on a daring night. Got the picture? Next up, Steve Harris of Iron Maiden offers his thoughts on Iron Chef.
After close to five years of writing about food on this here site, I supposed that I've developed what can be best termed as a philosophy. I thought it would be a great exercise to put to words these beliefs into short paragraphs. Easy-peasy, right? At least that's what I thought. But when I sat down to actually think about what "I believe in", it turned out that there were several themes/agendas running through my head. Here's what I've come up with so far. Food is Life - This is pretty straightforward. You need to eat to live. Food is Cultural - What you eat represents who you are as well as the environment in which you inhabit. Food is Class - What you eat is defined by the allotment of resources available to you. Food is Politics - The food choices you make within your resources give credibility to the producers and suppliers of said food. These are high level beliefs, and each relates to one another in a variety of ways. For example, when I give a more specific belief. Obesity is more complicated than "we eat too much" - Sure, at it's root it is because we eat too much, but it's also because, as a culture, we have shifted from an active work environment to a passive, less physical, work environments. It does help that we are inundated with images telling us how delicious processed foods with high volumes of fat and sugar can be. The above relates to health (obesity), culture (advertising, work environment), and one could probably make cases for politics and class. So as you read the below, try to keep the above high-level items in mind, for those, more than anything, shape how I think about food. So here it is, a few things about food that I believe. It should also be noted that none of these are hard-wired into my psyche. Given enough evidence, it is well within the realms of possibility that a) I could be wrong. And b) I could change my mind on any number of these issues. Ready? Here we go. Food often works its way from the lower classes, up. - Historically speaking, the foods that enter and stay within our cultures tend to be ones that are eaten on an every day basis. We eat far more peasant food than we realize. Italian, Mexican, Tapas, French, the variety of regional Indian and Chinese cuisines, and yes, even Sushi, all have their roots as food for the commoners. Related to this is this belief: Food rarely works from the upper classes down - Here's a quick bit of trivia. Lobster, caviar, bone marrow, and sweet breads are all foods currently associated with the upper class. All of them have their roots in the lower classes. There are likely exceptions. Sashimi comes to mind. But these are the exceptions. What does this mean to me? Upscale dining signifies very little - All of this talk about five-star restaurants and $1500 meals means very little in the grand scheme of things when it comes to food. Yes, there's an entertainment value, and certainly the skills of the chefs are to be commended and commented upon. But their influence on day to day eating is probably negligible to everyone except those who eat at these types of places. But boy do these places serve great meals (for the most part). Conversely Mid-scale and low scale dining signifies quite a bit - The recession hits, and Bennigan's closes, Applebee's sell off 66 of their stores, and the Cheesecake Factory reports a 36% drop in third quarter earnings. When people have money, they eat out at places like these. When they conserve money, they stay at home or start eating at cheaper places. For example, McDonald's has seen sales go up 8% for October. I'm willing to bet that teriyaki and taco truck sales are up here in Seattle. The quality of the food aside for a moment, what I'm trying to say here is that if you want to see which foods represent food culture, look towards mid-scale and low-scale dining. More beliefs at a later date.
What I wanted to do today was a spritz cookie. But alas, I fell in love with a cookie gun, a love that was sadly unrequited. The gun required an excessive amount of oil in order to get it work properly. So when the cookies went into the oven, they cooked far quicker than I wished, and ended up burned. So, after a tantrum on my part, I went back to the cookie drawing board, and decided on a simple drop cookie, as it had the benefit of not requiring the use of unreliable tools. That's not to say that one should look upon these as a second choice cookie. Far from it. These cookies are delicious and well worth a moment of your time. Total time from when I mixed the flour to when I removed the last tray of cookies from the oven? Forty minutes. This is a great return on your time investment. 4 1/2 oz (by weight) All Purpose Flour 1/2 cup Dutch-Processed Cocoa 1/2 tsp Baking Soda 1/4 tsp Baking Powder 1/4 tsp Salt 6 Tbs. Butter, softened to room temperature 2 Tbs. Vegetable Shortening, softened to room temperature 1/2 cup granulated sugar 1/2 cup light brown sugar, delumped 1 egg, large, also room temperature 1 tsp pure vanilla extract 3/4 cup slivered almonds Pre-heat your oven to 350 degrees F. In a bowl combine your APF, Cocoa, Baking Soda, Baking Powder, and Salt. Mix until all has been incorporated into one another. Set aside. Then in a mixing bowl, cream together your butter and shortening. Add both the granulated and brown sugars. Then whisk in the egg and vanilla until thoroughly combined. At this point you want to start slowly adding the flour mixture that you had set aside earlier, 1/3 of a cup at a time. Mix well before adding the next third of a cup, until there is no flour mixture left. Mix in the almonds. Spoon out the cookie dough 1 teaspoon at a time onto parchment paper that has been placed on cookie sheets. Ensure that there is at least 1 inch between each drop of dough. Place in oven and bake for eleven minutes (+/- 1 minute). Remove from oven and place on a rack to cool. Makes 2 dozen
I think one of the best signs that you've really gotten used to living in a new place is getting used to things that are regularly available and inexpensive at the grocery store. When I first move to a new place, I always find myself craving those easy foods from my old home: I really miss bagels from New York as a quick snack and the microwave Asian food that was available everywhere in Toronto. I think I've finally gotten used to cooking with what is available to me in Paris. I find myself craving things that are unavailable or need a trek out to some God-forsaken neighborhood to find. Somehow, my body has subconsciously started to gravitate towards things that Parisians take for granted, and one of those is endive. Endive is a sort of bitter lettuce that is grown in Belgium and is thus very easy to get and very cheap here in Paris. Whereas back in the States, endive is one of the more expensive lettuces, here, you can buy a huge bag of eight for about two euros. I don't get very creative with my endive: my favorite thing (and pretty much the only thing I do with them) is to make an endive and apple salad, like my host family in the north of France used to do. One sweet apple (red or MacIntosh-ish) for every two endive is combined in a bowl, the apple cut into large chunks and the endive sliced down the middle and chopped. I toss the entire thing with a simple homemade vinaigrette, and suddenly I start to feel, not just like a transplanted expat or like a Parisian, but truly French. emiglia Tomato Kumato
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