La Gourmande

Citrus fruits washed and waiting to be made into yogurt cakes

Ready for the Vanilla Grapefruit Cake

In a country that takes food very seriously (is it really a coincidence that the word for "chef" and "boss" are one in the same?), it’s very difficult not to be inspired by the quality of food and ingredients available here. I’ve always liked cooking and been interested in food, but I feel like that interest has really blossomed here in the land where food is classified as one of UNESCO’s world heritage sites. If you haven’t been able to tell from my previous posts, I’ve also fallen in with a group of amazing cooks who like to cook and share that experience with others as much as I do.

Mixing the plain yogurt with blood orange juice

So, I thought I’d share with you some of my most recent culinary ventures…

Batter ready for the pan

Last Monday I hosted the Mangesters chez moi. My, like every other assistant I know, bank account being entirely depleted from my February/March vacation, I opted for a cheap and simple meal, and managed to cook for 10 people for less than 20 euros. To start we had a salad with thinly sliced strawberries and disks of goat cheese, and a vinaigrette. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this already, but the French have this incredibly correct notion that salad dressing doesn’t need anything besides oil, vinegar, a dollop of spicy mustard and salt and pepper. It comes out a little different every time, but is always really delicious.

Juicing for the Blood Orange Olive Oil cake

For the main dish we had a version of Pasta e Fagioli soup that I adopted from Chow.com I added a little too much pasta, so, if you attempt this dish, always add less than you think, it really soaks up the liquid. And don't forget to add plenty of cheese!

Friday night I went to a Belgian friend’s house where he made us all traditional Belgian waffles in his family’s waffle press. I’ve never seen batter so thick – and they were more like dense cakes that needed jam or some other moist spread, than the fluffy supple ones we’re used to getting at diners at home. 

Sugar blended with grapefruit zest, plain yogurt and eggs

Sunday, after a late night out AND losing an hour because we just changed the clocks forward, I started my day by going to a 2pm brunch at some friends’. Though the extent of my contribution to the meal was stopping for fresh baguettes on the way over, I thought I was worth describing here as it was such a typical Epic French Sunday lunch. We had a salad of mache and roquette with avocado, onion and tomato with the aforementioned vinaigrette. 2 kinds of quiches: mushroom, onion, zucchini and cheese, and tomato, tuna and Dijon mustard. Both really yummy, except that they bought the wrong dough for one of the quiches – a vanilla infused one used for desserts. I guess that’s the risk you run when you do your grocery shopping after a long night out, but it turned out ok. Bread and butter of course. Followed by 2 gorgeous cheeses from the Sunday morning market at St. Aubin, one comte and one vieux comte aged 60 months. Finally, strawberries, chocolate and coffee.

Finished products

What I didn’t contribute to brunch I made up later that day as later that afternoon I cruised my bike over to my friend Lauren’s house (chef from Brooklyn) where we baked all afternoon and into the evening. We’ve both been wanting to try out this traditionally French recipe for yogurt cake for a while now, so we scrounged up what ingredients we had and started brainstorming. With a motley collection of citrus fruits we came up with: a blood orange olive oil cake (adapted from Smitten Kitchen, one of my favorite food blogs), a vanilla grapefruit yogurt cake, and a lemon yogurt cake.

I stayed until dinner time, and Lauren put together a really nice vegetarian dinner of mache salad, steamed white asparagus, and a tomato, onion, mushroom parsely rice.

Tomorrow we’re bringing our cakes to the Mangesters, I’ll let you know how it goes.

Bisous.

Linz

White asparagus have a much more woody,
fibrous texture than the green variety

Peeling white asparagus - proved to be slightly futile

Recipe for our Blood Orange Olive Oil Cake

Ingredients:

2 blood oranges (We only had one, so if you have more, use ‘em!)

1 cup of sugar

½ cup of plain yogurt

2/3 cup of extra virgin olive oil

1 ¾ cups of flour

1 ½ teaspoons of baking powder

¼ teaspoon baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter a medium sized loaf pan.

Zest the 2 blood oranges and using your hands, rub the zest together with the sugar until evenly distributed.

Add the juice of 1 orange to the plain yogurt and mix until smooth. I did not do this (again for lack of oranges), but you can supreme the other orange, taking the flesh away from the skin and pith and cut the segments out of their connective membranes, and stir in the segments later.

Whisk the eggs and olive oil into the yogurt-juice mixture.

In another bowl, whisk together the dry ingredients (flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt) and gently stir the mixture into the wet ingredients. This is where you can also fold in the orange segments.

Bake cake for about 50-55 minutes. Let it cool on a rack for 5 minutes before taking it out of the mold to cool at room temperature. Serve plain or with whipped cream or crème fraiche. 

From Barcelona to Istanbul and Back Again

 How do you sum up 15 days of eye-popping sights, crazy nights, and great memories? I’m going to try to be as selective as possible with my anecdotes as not to bore you too much!

View of Barcelona from the Park Guell by Antonio Gaudi

Barcelona with my friend Emma was great. She shares my never-ending love of food and wine, agrees that upon entering Spain to not strictly adhere to the custom of afternoon siestas would just be disrespectful, and puts up with me being a not-so closet audio-guide freak, what more could I ask for in a travel partner?  We had a blast.

We had really great (if not expensive) food, and I was reunited with my favorite fried snack, churros. We had tapas, tortilla, gazpacho, and also some great seafood and catalan dishes like grilled octopus.

The nightlife in Barcelona was exactly as my Spanish friends in Toulouse had painted it for me…late late late! The first night Emma and I tried to go dancing we showed up to the club around 2am…silly us. We were literally the only souls in the place, and the bartender was reading a newspaper like it was the beginning of his shift. We got a drink and waited about an hour before people really started arriving! Loca!

One of the hallways in the attic of Casa Batllo, doesn't it looks like the thorax of a bug or the body of a snake? 

One of my, like many people, favorite parts of Barcelona was the colorful and playful modernist architecture, specifically the works by Antonio Gaudi. I spent 2 hours in the Casa Batllo alone, and could have spent more! The Casa Batllo is an apartment building that Gaudi was commissioned to redo for a Barcelona family. Fun fact, it is now owned by the family that owns the Chupa Chup lollipops. I’m sure they’re not hurting for money so I’m not sure why they charged 15 euros to get in, but anyway…

Winding staircase that resembles a spine inside Casa Batllo

Gaudi was very religious, and there are several theories about what the colorful façade of the building is supposed to be, but one of them is that it is the dragon that St. George, the patron saint of Barcelona, vanquished, and that the balconies are supposed to resemble skulls, and the supports of the first floor windows are the bones of the slain beast. The inside of the house resembled a creature as well with its spiny staircase welcoming you up to the first floor from the foyer.

Gaudi door handle from the Casa Mila

I loved the way Gaudi was so sensitive to human ergonomics, touring his houses was as much a tactile as it was visual experience. The railings, chairs, and door handles he designed fit the human touch perfectly.

Facade of the Casa Batllo on the right next to a
house designed by Domenech i Montaner
who designed the Palau (above).

The more I learned about Gaudi and his style of architecture, the more he really reminded me of my grandfather who was also a builder and an artist.  Gaudi used old ceramics and tiles that he would smash to refit together to cover an irregularly shaped surface and also to make mosaics. My grandfather did the same thing with his basement worshop and laundry room, covering all the walls and surfaces with old tile he found in homes that were being redone which he recut to fit every crevice. Gaudi prominently featured light as a part of his architecture as did my grandfather who was a fan of skylights and letting in natural light. Gaudi also woked with “green” building methods way before his time, as he tried to use natural ways to regulate climate and temperature. In his doors between rooms as well as to the outside, he incorporated slats that could be moved in and out of place to regulate airflow. Also, the thorax-looking attics to both the Casa Batllo and Casa Mila were built to accommodate the laundry facilities for the buildings and he used parabolic arches and downward opening vents to facilitate airflow to dry the laundry quicker. Both men had a huge appreciation for nature and took inspiration from the natural shapes and beauty they found there. 

Em and I infront of the Sagrada

Inside La Sagrada Familia 

Emma and I of course toured the Sagrada Familia, the magnificent cathedral Gaudi was commissioned in to build in the 1920s, that been under construction ever since. It is expected to be finished in 2030. The outside with its 4 very different facades dedicated to the 4 stages of Jesus’ life, is a bit hard to adjust your eyes to because of the the jarring differences of styles and overwhelming amount of detail. Once you enter you’re immediately enveloped by the feeling that you’re walking deep inside a forest, even the lighting coming from the windows and ceiling is dappled like its being filtered through tree cover. It’s truly magical.

La Pedrera is another apartment building Gaudi was privately commissioned to build. I much preferred the inside of the Casa Batllo, but love the terrace of La Pedrera, or Casa Mila with its inventive chimneys. It is said that George Lucas took inspiration for the Storm Troopers from these chimneys, as he visited Barcelona not long before making the Star Wars films.

Dun DUN dun-dun-dun duuuuun dun...

Another gorgeous building Emma and I toured was the Palau de la Musica Catalana, built between 1905 and 1908 to house the Orfeo chorus, who at the time was a leading group in the Catalan cultural renaisance.

Rooftop view of Casa Batllo

Palau de la Musica Catalana

One night we met up with my friends from Toulouse, Brittany and Kristen and her boyfriend who was visiting Europe, and my favorite evening ensued. We all set out to find this place called La Xampaneria (Champaneria), which, in all our guidebooks boasted dirt-cheap pink champagne and tapas. What other motivation could there be in this world? 

We found it down by the Barceloneta neighborhood by the beach. It turned out to be not so much a restaurant, but a packed-like-sardines, standing-room-only space that was bursting with noise, laughter, the tinkling of classes and the smell of  hot tapas from several doors down. At the center of all this madness was a bar where 5 guys were churning out no-frills, deliciously greasy tapas, popping champagne bottle after bottle, and keeping track of everyones tabs on a single piece of paper that was a dizzying grid scratched with x's and tick marks. After our first (considerable) battle of getting in the door was achieved, we were faced with the dilemma: how the heck do we get an order in? And, more importantly, get our hands on some of that champagne at 90 cents a glass?

La Xampaneria closing down 

I’ve neglected to mention it thus far, but for those of you who don’t know, I like to think that I can speak Spanish. By speaking Spanish, I mean adding a’s and o’s to the ends of French words and smiling a lot. Thanks to my Spanish friends in Toulouse, I do know several stock Spanish words, like “vale”, (which basically means OK,) that can pass for just about anything (believe me I really put them to the test). My surety in my trilingualism on this trip got to the point where Emma would catch herself asking me: “How do you say …in Spanish” before realizing and bursting out laughing.

View behind the counter of La Xampaneria

Anyway back to La Champaneria. Kristen’s boyfriend had approached the bar and struck out with the bartender, so, armed with my language skills and girlish charm, I thought I might have better luck. I have  no idea what I said, but a few moments later we were passed a pile of small sandwiches piled high with greasy sausages, sliced cured hams and cheese, and voila, we were in! 

Emma left Barcelona 2 days before I did to meet her family in Rome, and I flew out 2 days later for Istanbul with my friend Ana from Toulouse. I loved the city and could definitely see myself going back if given the chance as there are still so many museums, parks and monuments I didn't see, even with 6 jam packed days!

Alberto, Ana and myself in the snow outside Saint Sophia

It was slightly unsettling to go from a tourist friendly, relatively easily-read city like Barcelona, to a city like Istanbul that doesn’t let itself be so easily digested. The richness of the history there is unreal, and from the moment I arrived I definitely had that you're-not-in-Kansas anymore feeling.

Some of us ladies inside the Harem of the Topkapi Palace

Funnily enough, coming from Spain, Bulgaria, France, and Rome, all 10 of us arrived at the hostel I had reserved within ten minutes of each other. Our accommodations consisted of a 10-person room (bunk beds of course), and one shower. I, never having been to camp, quickly learned the importance of a shower schedule.

The Blue Mosque

We started out with hitting the main sights which were all mostly in the old city center, Sultanehment, where we were staying: The Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, Saint Sophia, the Cistern, Suleymaniye Mosque, the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Market.

Inside Saint Sophia

One of my favorite monuments was the Saint Sophia which was a church build in 537 by Emperor Justinien. The construction of the building was so lavish that it but notable economic strain on the society. Funnily enough, it was never dedicated to a Saint, but still bears the name Saint Sophia. When Sultan Mehmet II conquered the city of Constantinope in 1453 he received the keys to the great building, and it was converted into a mosque that very night. Today, there are still remnants of gorgeous golden mosaics depicting Catholic images and Saints that were destroyed or painted over during the conversion of the building. 

Me making a wish at the "sweating column" inside the Saint Sophia

We saw a performance of the Whirling Dervishes one evening, who are religious muslims performing a kind of dance where they turn in place for 10-30 minutes at a time, repeating this several times, to traditional Sufi music. This act supposedly brings them closer to communication with God. In 1924 when the State became laic, these religious rituals were forbidden, however in the 1950s a certain tolerance started coming back and the dervishes reemerged. Some dervishes accept audiences others do not. It's quite an impressive sight.  

Whirling Dervishes

And now, my favorite Istanbul anecdote: After 4 days of ritually freezing our buns off all day, we decided to look into papmering ourselves with a Turkish hamam. We had head that there were many in the center that had become very touristy and therefore more pricey and less “authentic.” Seasoned travelers, we were all more than willing to put in a bit extra leg work in the name of a more authentic experience. Mission accomplished. 

Inside the courtyard of the Blue Mosque

The adventure began when we split into 2 taxis, and my cab driver had never heard of the bath, nor the street it was on. He let us out in the snow 2 minutes later, assuring us that it was within walking distance in the old city center where cabs could not go. I had just looked at the address on googlemaps and knew he was wrong, but had no way of communicating this. Unlike Spanish, my Turkish is not that strong. We walked to the Cistern to ask the doorman there, no dice. He directed us the the “Toursim Police” who are police who are supposed to speak English to better aid tourists. Hah. As he was trying to help us I was somewhat distracted by the huge AK47 dangling around his neck. He pointed us to a completely different area on the map than where we were, which I also knew was wrong, but once again could not communicate. At this point I was beginning to think we’d never get there, and wondering where the other half of our group was. We walked until we found a line of cabs outside of the Saint Sophia, and I was so relieved when the first cab driver we asked nodded in comprehension and motioned us to get in. The relief didn’t last long, as we were about to be taken on the most wild cab ride of our lives. After we were all in and off, the cab driver started yelling in broken English that "cabs not allowed" and to "take picture." After a frantic few moments and getting over the initial fear and misunderstanding that we were on the tram tracks and about to get smooshed, we understood that he was telling us that he had to take another (longer) road to get to where we were going as cabs were not allowed on the smaller streets. We later understood he was just ripping us off by taking us the longest way possible. Once convinced we were not going to get flattened by a tram, the driver began joking with us about the weather, how Americans are stressed, testing out his elementary Spanish on Alberto and Ana, etc. We were all getting along great until we realized that he had rigged the meter and that this was the most expensive cab ride we had been on yet by a longshot. We kept telling him to pull over and he (kind of) communicated that we were almost there and not to worry. When we got to the hamam, we told him we were giving him 2/3 of the fare he was asking, which we were told by our hostel was normal if you think they have given you an unfair price. We opened the door to get out and he stepped on the gas, refusing to stop the cab until we had paid him the difference. After this bad experience it made me really appreciate all the times we didn’t get ripped off in cabs which on the whole were a very inexpensive way to get around in Istanbul.

Mosque on the shore of the Bosporus 

Nerves shot I was so happy to be received into the warm subterranean entrance of the bath. Alberto, our resident male, stayed, while the 9 of us were ushered away by a short portly Turkish woman who led us next door to the women’s hamam. We entered a similar lobby where 2 older, equally rotund women were laying on couches. They snapped into action when they saw us come in, thrust towels in our hands, and shepherded us into the glass dressing rooms lining the walls, motioning for us to remove all our clothes. No English spoken here.

A few moments later we all shuffled out of our changing rooms in the provided oversized sandals and wrapped in our towels, unsure of what was about to ensue. The 2 women herded us out of the main room, through a labrynth of small hallways and into a dark, warm, marble room with a dias in the center lit by a single bare lightbulb hanging from the vaulted domed ceiling. The walls were lined with low marble benches and interspersed with sinks continuously being filled with hot water. Our towels were taken from us, (no more secrets here,) and we sat down on the floor. The woman came around and one by one thew a pail of hot water at us. After the initial shock, it felt great and she motioned for us to continue doing that to ourselves, while she disappeared.

Turkish coffee pots display at the Grand Bazaar

After about 20 minutes she came back, this time, dressed more or less to the same degree we were, and she was carrying a loofah. She pointed imperiously at Bonnie who was closest to her, and shooed her over to the marble dias in the center. Motioning with her arms she had her lie face-down on her stomach, and vigorously started scrubbing her head to foot. We all sat there dumbfounded for a moment, and the simultaneously broke out into Happy Birthday to Bonnie, (in her birthday suit), for what I'm sure was an unforgettable birthday experience. When she was done with Bonnie she gave her a little (but firm) smack, like a piece of meat, which we quickly understood was the universal sign for 'turn over', then, 'get up I’m finished'. After that we were each washed by a second woman with soap, then sent to a sauna and then came back to have our hair washed.

Fishermen on the Bosporus

It was a very surreal experience, kind of like being washed by your grandmother (if your grandmother spoke only Turkish and wore fuschia lacy lingerie).

Extremely concentrated gounds deciphering happening here

Mike's lounge

One afternoon when we stopped to taste some famed Turkish coffee and read our fortunes in the grounds, we stumbled upon this adorable Bed and Breakfast type place with a cafe in the lobby. Whilst we were deep in deliberation amongst ourselves as to whether Bonnie's residual coffee sludge resembled a bridge or 2 future children, a Turkish man named Mike came over and started talking with us. He left after a  while and when we paid the bill the server asked if we wanted to come up to see the rooftop terrace of the hotel, we said yes and the ten of us traipsed up the spiral staircase to the beautifully decorated terrace. We were then led to an old wooden door that opened into what seemed like a secret attic full of antiques, oversized pillows, colors, lamps, kind of like walking into an Anthropologie display. And, lo and behold, there was Mike at the center of the people milling about drinking a tea and smoking a cigarette. Turns out the place was his hotel and he invited us to stay and chat for a bit while he explained that he has been in the antique dealing business for the past 30 years and had several Turkish rug stores in the US, now he has this hotel as a "hobby." He invited us all to pass back through whenever we liked, and explained his space as a kind of salon. Cool. A few afternoons later Bonnie, Michaela and I took him up on his offer and we had wine and cookies and chatted for a couple hours (that's when I really felt like I was on a dream vacation: wine and cookies in the middle of the day? In a secret attic lounge filled with gorgeous Turkish antiques?). We also ended up eating dinner there for the night of Bonnie's birthday (after our crazy taxi/bath experience). 

I would be remiss if I didn't mention how fabulous the food was in Turkey - Moussaka, manti, lots of olive oil and lemon flavors, tons of veggies, a really good lentil soup called corba (pronounced chorbah), not to mention the Turkish Delight, baklava, puddings and tons of assorted nut and honey confections. Though I can't account first hand, my friends seemed to enjoy the kebabs that were on every street corner. One of my favorite parts were the juice vendors who sold fresh orange and pomegranate juice.

I took more public transportation than I care to recount including buses, trams, taxis, boats, ferries, trains, metros, and planes. It was an incredible trip and I have tons of wonderful memories, but we were all happy to get back to our beloved Toulouse, which is starting to bloom!

Happy Spring!

A bientôt!

Linz

PS If you're interested in more photos and captions for Istanbul here's a slideshow: http://www.kodakgallery.com/gallery/creativeapps/photoPicker/albums.jsp

Lazy Sunday

In our world inundated with innumerable crazy events happening right now I feel very lucky and grateful to be able to say that I had a great first weekend back in Toulouse.

I promise an update on the 15 days I spent traveling Barcelona and Istanbul, as well as a photo album soon. As wonderful as my whole trip was, I, as well as everyone else I traveled with, was delighted to get back to Toulouse last weekend. It’s thrilling too to think that, whilst traveling Eastern and Western Europe, when I say I’m looking forward to going “home” and sleeping in “my own” bed, I really mean home in the South of France.

Thursday (yes, my “weekend” begins Thursday) I got free student tickets to my first classical music concert which I attended with my friend Ana – a duo, a pianist and violinist who played 3 sonatas. Friday night, to continue my cultural kick, I went and saw the Barber of Seville at the Opera at Place Capitol with a bunch of other assistants. We got rush tickets 30 minutes before the show and grabbed the absolute last 6 seats. Unfortunately, not only were we not able together, but had absolutely the last seats in the house that you could sell: first row of the orchestra, the highest balcony, chairs moved tino the unoccupied spots allocated for wheelchairs, etc. I thought that I had the luck of the draw when the usher showed me to my seat in one of the boxes with a great view of the orchestra and stage, until 5 minutes before the show when this incredibly well dressed Italian couple arrived looking very confused to see me there, looked at my ticket, and pointed to the little strapon fold-out seat attached to where I had been sitting. Oops. I was put in my place, so to speak. Regardless, the Opera was really great, I loved the music, scenery, expressive conductor who I still had a great view of from my kids seat, and playful humor of the storyline. I’m going to miss all the promotions Europe has for people under 25 in terms of reductions for cultural events like that.

Friday night I took my bike to meet up with some friends I hadn’t seen since before vacation and had a little trouble getting up Saturday morning. It was Amy’s birthday and she invited a bunch of the assistants to the town of Muret 15 minutes from Toulouse where she teaches and lives with a host family. They have an incredible Saturday morning market and we all bought something to eat and returned to Amy’s family’s house to prepare lunch. When we arranged all of our purchases on the table, there were naturally several different kinds of cheeses, namely goat cheese, an obscene amount of bread, olive tapenade, tomatoes, guacamole, roasted asparagus (yay summer veggies!), and a few kilos of the first strawberries of the season. We finished with a chocolate mousse lack cherry whipped cream birthday cake which I had ordered from a boulangerie in St Cyprien and brought to Amy’s. After a healthy amount of eating and sitting around  sharing our vacation stories, we played a game of group kickball in the backyard – it was really nice to get out of the city and spend the afternoon at a house with a yard!

I came back to Toulouse to give a private lesson which brought in some much needed moo-lah, and went out on the town to continue the birthday celebration.

View from the front stoop

Gisele, Gilou, Christine and Queen Mother

Inside the cabin

Today Gisele invited me to her and her companion’s country home about an hour outside of Toulouse where she usually spends her weekends. Her friend, Queen Mother and daughter Christine picked me up this morning and we all drove together. The house is more like a cabin/shed with no electricity in the middle of a small orchard of pear, apple, peach, cherry, and almond trees with a gorgeous view of the Pyrenees. We spent the entire day outside under the sun and a gentle breeze.  After lunching on sausage and braised vegetables, bread, cheese and homemade marmalade, all washed down with a Bordeaux, we took customary after-epic-Sunday-lunch siestas. I curled up with a blanket and pillow under one of the cherry trees, and woke up an hour later to coffee and gorgeous pastries. Qu’est ce qu’elle est belle la vie.

Wood-burning stove inside the cabin

"Kitchen" with a gorgeous view

After returning to Toulouse this evening I cruised my bike over to a film festival being held in a building that’s been “squatted” for 18 years and serves as a kind of artistic space and room for events.  Cool event, cheap drinks and homemade veggie-friendly dinner served.

Walking home I had to stop and take a photo of this crazy moon we’ve been having, I can’t get over how much it illuminates the city at night.

View of the luminous moon from the bridge I cross to get home overlooking Toulouse

A bientôt!

Linz