Monthly Archives: October 2012

French Food for real folk

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Always on the look out for new food to prepare, I jumped at the opportunity to learn a new recipe when the Chief Parisienne suggested we prepare dinner together. Her family has a home in the South of France, so I was not surprised when she declared that we’d be making ratatouille, although I was surprised that she makes it without tomatoes.

At the market we purchased

2 red peppers, 1 green pepper

1 eggplant

4 zucchini (marrow)

1 onion

We already had Herbes de provence and garlic at home.

In the kitchen we opened a bottle of Sancerre and drank to our health. Then we minced about 1/3 of the head of garlic and diced all of the veggies into small cubes. The pieces were about the size of a fingertip and she kept reminding me to make them smaller, but be safe with that knife and don’t add the fingertips themselves!

 

In a spaghetti pot (Parisiennes have tiny kitchens and make do with whatever pot is on hand, at home I use a large frying pan), the CP sautéed the onion and garlic over med-high heat, adding a pinch of salt. When the alliums were soft and transparent she added the eggplant. About 5 minutes later the rest went in, including a pinch of herbs with a few turns of the pepper mill. In another 5 minutes we turned the flame down to low and headed into the living room for a second glass of wine.

Every now and again, the CP would return to the kitchen and stir things up. At some point, without telling me, she added a cube of sugar.

I took my hot veggies home in a tupperware, grilled a few lamb chops and got to bask in the title Kitchen Goddess for the rest of the week. The following week they were all clamouring for more. I set to work, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the right taste, which is when I remembered that the CP had disappeared into the kitchen on more than one occasion. So I made a brief phone call, and sure enough, we’d forgotten to mention the sugar. One cube later, and it was perfect!

This dish takes longer to prepare than most meals I make, but even the gourmet pre-made versions are about 50% fat. Double batches are easy to cook and it freezes well, so it is worth the effort.

VARIATION: Heat the ratatouille up in a large skillet. Crack two eggs over the simmering vegetables and let them cook through. YUM!

DESSERT Bonne Maman Lemon sorbet from Picard

 

Tick Tock

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photo from the Huffington Post

Last week was La Nuit Blanche, when the entire city is encouraged to pull an all-nighter and stroll from art gallery to installation, appreciating the City of Light at night. I love this event and look forward to it every year, but this year I was particularly excited because I’d read in The New Yorker that Christian Marclay’s film The Clock would be playing at the Palais de Chaillot for the night.

When I tell friends that The Clock is a film in which the artist has taken scenes from other movies that show the exact minute on clocks or watches and he has patched them all together to make a 24 hour long film, we’ll they’re not exactly begging to be my date.

I was still sick. Mr French was sick and it was pouring rain. I insisted we go anyway. There was a 40 minute line outside of the Cité de l’Architecture, which is in the same building as the Théatre Chaillot. We felt like we’d won the lottery as we walked up to the front door.

“Ah, non madame, the entrance is around the corner, through the tourist hoards and down the stairs.” Fantastique.

Downstairs, of course, there was a line. A very long line. Turns out there are a LOT of The Clock groupees in Paris. We got into line and after 40 minutes in the now cold rain, Mr French looked into my eyes lovingly, “This movie had better be good, chérie.”

“I don’t know about the film, but I sure know you love me after this wait.”

5 minutes later we were in a large tent with dozens of IKEA sofas. We settled in and we were swept away, watching time fly without seeing the time pass. I know that the concept sounds dry and boring, but there are scenes that tell a story in each one of those minutes that Marclay captures on celluloid and he takes those scenes and weaves them together, creating a tapestry of new stories and captivating interactions.

You’re in a 1950’s newsroom when an injured, bleeding man falls forward, surprising you and terrifying the woman from the next scene, in her 1940’s farmhouse. It is also fun to identify the movies and the actors from American, but also French, Italian, Japanese and other international films. Tati Danielle drops her dentures into a jar next to the clock on the bedside table while Indiana Jones stews for five minutes in a casbah.

As midnight approaches you start seeing more and more clocks and watches, creating tension as the celebrations begin, then quickly turn into gruesome deaths, all in a span of sixty seconds. We staid for 2 hours and 40 minutes, and even then I had to peel Mr French off of the sofa and into La Nuit Blanche.

NOTE / The Clock travels the world so be sure to make time to see it when the film visits your town.

Alms, alms for the…

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 Today I present you with a guest post by my very own M. Yes, it’s true nepotism rears its ugly head. Guilty as charged. Add it to my list of reasons I know I’m turning French!

This weekend my best friend and I spent two days, one of them in the pouring rain, walking around Paris asking for money for an association for blind people. We volunteered to do this through school, having no idea what we would be dealing with: French people. 

        The multitude of excuses we were given cannot be put into words. The “I’m in a hurry” coming from someone smoking a cigarette, leaning on a wall were quite common as well as the simple but efficient “Non!”.

        The best would be when people would reply, with a strong French accent, “I don’t speak French”. We simply looked at them with huge smiles stating that it was no big deal. None. At all. The thing is, that’s what I do when trying to avoid people coming up to me on the street asking for money or selling something. What these poor strangers didn’t know is that not only are we both perfectly bilingual in French and English but we have also been studying Spanish and Chinese for several years. We were therefore ready for any type of excuses thrown at us. However, French people don’t always need excuses

        The best remains those who easily ignored our existence, walking off slightly elbowing us. 

        Some busy women or bored men would kindly smile, give us some change and walk away in the middle of our speech, one we had perfected throughout the day. 

        One young, obviously not poor woman laughed at our request saying she had no change and still asked for one of the stickers we were giving out. We didn’t know how to say no.

        We did however get a few positive responses. To try to make it slightly more fun we would quizz those who dared talk to us for more than thirty seconds. One of the questions we would ask was “Which superhero was blind- Batman, Daredevil or The Hulk?” (the answer; Daredevil). A young guy in his twenties answered “It’s obviously Superman seeing the way he dresses”. After being on our feet for a few hours we decided to take a little rest and sat down at a café. The waiter, impressed by our work, gave us 4 euros without us even having to ask. 

        Surprisingly, the most generous were the tourists. They seemed genuinely interested, which was quite a relief after hours of rejection. 

        Overall, we never stopped badgering people no matter how rude or dismissive they were and walked away with almost 200 euros to help the blind.

Paris Fashion Week / mystery couple

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While stalking fashion week, I kept seeing the most intriguing couple at all the shows; Guy Laroche, Belmain, Chanel… they were even front and center at Elie Saab. She is just breathtakingly beautiful and was very friendly with the press. He looks spectacular. They were not a couple in the romantic sense, but I am dying to know their story. Generally, I am not good at identifying famous people. Earlier this week I was getting emails for readers telling me I had shot Nichol Ritchie, Laetia Castas and Rachel Zoe. Who knew? Despite a fairly decent education at UCLA, with stars like Barbara Streisand auditing my classes, or Bill Cosby waiting for me to liberate the tennis court, you’d think I’d learn. But people had to tell me I was sitting next to Babs and I recognized Bill’s name on the sign-up list, otherwise I’d never had known.

Anyone have a clue who these fabulous folk maybe? Any People magazine followers out there? Au secours!!!

 

 

Paris Fashion Week / details

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They say the devil is in the details. We’ll, they’re not kidding if those details have a girl whinging for a 10,000€ accessory. It’s an evil plot, I tell you. So in my valorous attempt to stay angelic, I’ve collected a whole packet of beautiful things, but in pixels, which are virtually free to me, and now I can share them with you!!!

The End

 

Friday@Flore

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Well folks, I am afraid that Friday@Flore has called in sick today. After a week of running around like chicken with my head cut off, standing out in the rain for Paris Fashion Week shots, juggling Back to School night and spending sleepless nights coughing up my left lung, I simply can not sit out at a café terrasse under a threatening grey sky.

BUT, hey, we’ve got a chicken with its head cut off, so lets use it and make some chicken soup! I made some earlier this week and frankly, it was the best I’ve ever made, which is actually saying something because with my Jewish roots, good chicken soup runs through my veins.

At the market I got 2 leeks, 2 small onions and 8 carrots. Grandmère French had just sent up a batch of fresh thyme from her garden, I’ve already got dried bay leaves and the butcher prepared a Baugrain chicken for me by taking out the innards (Did I want to take them home? Non, merci, you can keep them, but do want the neck) and cutting it into 8 pieces, minus the head and feet.

At home I cut the greens and roots off the leeks, then chopped each large white stalk in half. No matter how long I’ve lived in Paris, I am still lazy Californian so I don’t peel the carrots, I just chop them in thirds. Coins would be more elegant, but then they’d be over cooked. I skin the onions and cut them in 1/4s.

 

The prep work done, I throw the bird, veggies, 2 bay leaves a small hand full of grey sea salt from our trip to the Ile de Ré, the fresh thyme and about ten whole pepper corns into the stock pot, which I then fill with water. I put it all on the stove top at medium-high and go back to bed for forty minutes.

 

When I return to check on the soup it is with a large spoon so that I skim off all the grey scum that comes up from the chicken and the fat that is now floating on top. I adjust the heat, get everything down to a low simmer and go about my day.

Before serving I usually take a pair of kitchen tongs and remove the thyme, as well as the skin from all the chicken bits. Put into a bowl an serve steaming hot.

PLEASE NOTE / Next week I’ll be posting photos from Paris Fashion Week EVERYDAY / This is NOT turning into a fashion site, being sick for 12 days (and counting) has created quite a back log with my workload, and I need a mini-break. Stay tuned!!!

Pinch me, I’m dreaming…

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That maybe a title for another post. I can’t recall. It’s a feeling that happens to m fairly often since moving to Paris. And yesterday I got a big dose of it while attending the Elie Saab fashion show. This was my first large, international show with super stars and the über-chic crowd. After years of watching them saunter by as I ran errands or hurried to the office, I was finally “in”. And I got to be “in” with a truly fantastic designer who is more about style than brand, more about design than labels. I was as happy as a cat in a patch of sunlight on a winter’s day.

Elia Saab is an independent designer from Lebanon who was first invited by the Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture to show his collection at Paris Fashion Week in 2000. By 2006 he was a member of the Chambre. When I think of other designers, I may think of their classic cuts, nostalgic silhouettes, or daring designs. When I think of Elie Saab I immediately see sparkles and sumptuous fabrics that flow.Yesterday’s show did not let me down.

 

And I was not the only one soaking it all in.

 

Hundreds of international press were there recording every moment. Like when Taylor Swift showed up, or Rachel Zoe sashayed in. And my personal favorite, when the designer himself came out to acknowledge his fans, a brilliant, genuine smile on his face.

Rachel Zoe loving the blue dress

Taylor Swift loving the blue dress, too

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What is it like going to one of the main shows? You get there on time, because if you’re late, they won’t let you in. Than you stand around for about half an hour until they start letting the press enter. As you wait the fashion press and bloggers are out milling about and shooting everything that moves while fashion students flirt with the guards, hoping for a nod in. Finally, you can enter, and within a few minutes close to 1000 people have taken their seats. The music begins to pump through the speakers, loud enough to vibrate in your chest and the first model steps out. Flashes start flying, iPhones start tweeting and a brief 12-15 minutes later it is over, you’ve seen the entire collection and the women return, walking out single file for a final viewing. Just as they disappear behind the screen, the designer walks out, gives an appreciative wave and the music stops as everyone files out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The fashion was fantastic. Bright, solid colors flowed elegantly while enlightened with plays of lace and light. A couple of graphic dresses were young, modern and ready to hit the streets. It all looked wearable and even comfortable, which almost sounds like an insult in this world of tortured looks, and nearly impossible for formal wear, but it was a delight to the imagination and something of a dream come true.

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