Food, glorious food (otherwise known as the raw and the cooked)

In preparation for my trip to Paris, I did revise some of my high school french.  Needless to say, it was mostly appropriate words to use in restaurants.  I do think that if you can speak food in another language you are making a good start.  Add in please and thank you and the tourist battle is half won.

Interestingly, Paris became a little bit about my flirtation with raw food.  Raw milk cheeses - because I could - and raw beef.  Carpaccio and steak tartare to be precise.  I've only ever dabbled in raw beef dishes before.  Nibbled bits from the plates of friends or sampled trimmings while preparing steak.  Enough to know I liked it.  Not enough to know whether when faced with a large helping of chopped raw meat if I could actually eat it all.  (For some reason, carpaccio is not as confronting as steak tartare.  Maybe it is to do with the meat being pounded thin and then hidden under a pile of nicely dressed salad leaves.  I didn't even think twice before ordering and eating carpaccio.)

So, when my friend Perry and I found ourselves in a restaurant in Montmartre that served steak tartare, it was time.  Perry is a raw meat connoisseur from childhood, so I am told.  I pretended to be.

Asparagus risotto took the edge off (helped by a very nice glass of champagne), and then it arrived.  Beautifully hand chopped, accompanied by some lovely salad and roasted potatoes.  Fortunately not dressed with raw egg yolk as is sometimes the case.  But quite a large serving.  I only flinched a little bit, and then dived in.

It was so good.  Washed down with a riesling from the Alsace, which was a great accompaniment.

I nearly ate it all.  But in Paris, the wise woman leaves room for dessert.

There were other meals that were wonderful for other reasons (location, food, flirtation...).  But this was the most memorable because it ended up being about the adventure, and pushing my own boundaries (and the great company, but that's another story).  It was Paris, on a plate.

  

Cut to the chase... the highlights

So many people asked me when I came back from Paris 'what was the highlight?'

Can an entire trip be one big highlight?  Probably not, so I have narrowed (ha!) it down to three.
1. Food
2. Art
3. Friends

This is the food post.  Some of the pics will be better than others - indoors in restaurants with no flash tends to turn out a bit grainy.

If you have read more than one or two entries on this blog, you will have noticed that food is a ruling passion.  Buying it, cooking it, eating it, talking about it...  For me, a big part of the trip to Paris was going to be about the food.

My grasp of the French language revolves around food, I was at my most comfortable speaking French in restaurants.  We ate some spectacular meals.  We also ate some average ones.  Some of the best food we had in Paris was the stuff we bought ourselves from the shops.  And oh, what shops they are.

Being a frequent shopper at the Canberra farmers market, I am used to the whole idea of markets, with loads of fresh produce laid out on tables in front of me, so while the food markets in Paris were wonderful, they weren't new.  What I loved the most was the shops.  From the two glorious streets of food shopping that are Rue Montorgueil and Rue Mouffetard (Rue Montergueil was two blocks from our apartment), to the afore mentioned grand epicerie at Galeries Lafayette, to the deli counter at my local Monoprix supermarket - I was in heaven.  A big part of it must be the way everything is displayed.  The French understand that a big part of food shopping is what you see as well as what you taste.

It was mushroom season.  Ceps, or as we know them here, sadly in dried form only, porcini.  Big, meaty, flavoursome mushrooms.  Throw them in a frying pan with some girolles and chanterelles and garlic and butter then pile onto a fresh baguette.  It's no wonder I didn't want to come home.

Then there was the cheese.  The raw milk cheeses that we just can't get here.  If you ever (assuming you are living in or visiting a country that doesn't have such stupid laws about milk) come across Perail de Cabasses do not hesitate.  It is a beautiful soft sheeps' milk cheese that I would happily eat every day for the rest of my life...  Fortunately the lady in the cheese shop spoke english, because my French was not up to a complex conversation about different types of cheese.  What else did I buy from there?  I can't remember, but it was good.  From somewhere else, a goats cheese wrapped in a chestnut leaf was another standout.

And honey.  The French love their honey and I did manage to buy honey from the lady at the honey stall in the St Eustache street market in French, as she spoke no english.  We talked about the different things they use it for - tea, coffee, sore throat, beauty treatment ('pour la visage' she said, patting her face).  And when I told her I had bought cheese, she also said that honey goes well with cheese.  And boy, was she right.  There is no finer breakfast that some soft goats or sheeps cheese on a fresh baguette, topped with a drizzle of honey.
 

OK, I will show mercy.  It is obvious at this point that the food post will be spread over two entries... Go and make a sandwich now.