Le Boucher

My fear of the fromagerie extends to the boucher as well.  Not only is it visually unappealing - ummm, chickens with their still heads attached anyone? - but I also have NO FREAKING IDEA how to order there.

um, one tongue s'il vous plait?

A slice of that...thing...merci.

I've been carefully observing My Very Parisian Friend when she orders from the boucher, but so far I've only learned this:

1. The boucher does not wash his hands between handling your money and handling the meat.

2. MVPF's husband eats 300 grams of steak haché (hamburger meat). 

3. Apparently, that is a lot for one person.

Copain and I have been discussing going to the boucher recently, mainly because he's not allowed to heat up lunch food at his fancy office in the 8th arrondissement. We thought that some cold roast beef or pork roast would be nice instead of your run of the mill sandwich and salad everyday.

On Saturday, we decided that we would attempt to purchase something - but what? I couldn't even count on my Frenchie to help me out with this one, he had no idea either! So, we went with a roti de porc (pork roast).  We figured we wouldn't have to give any additional indications except "enough for four people" s'il vous plait. For future reference, "enough for four people" is about 1 kilo according to our local butcher. Good to know, right?

Another fun fact - 1 kilo of roti de porc at our boucher costs 12 euros. Not bad either!

We hiked up the 5 flights of stairs to our apartment, beaming with pride. We had a roti de porc! From the boucher! As we opened the door, basking in our glory, an unexpected nasty smell wafted into my nostrils....

Copain, did you...?

No, I didn't! I swear! 

Yes you did! It stinks in here! Dude! 

I'm serious! It's not me! ....Could it be the meat? 

I looked down into our plastic bag and saw what could only be the outline of a small chicken wrapped in aluminum foil. It was still warm to the touch. Zut! Of course this would happen on our first attempt  to conquer the boucher. The ol' plastic bag switcharoo.

We hiked back down the stairs and over to the boucher. They had been expecting us and were happy to get their chicken back and give us our roti de porc instead. 

Then I had to figure out how the heck to cook this thing.

a big hunk of meat. (1 kilo, to be exact)

Thankfully, with a little help from Jamie Oliver and some random French website, I was able to mix and match recipes and deliver something edible in just over an hour. 

The beginning of my roti de porc mastery!

We were so excited by our roti, that I forgot to take a photo of the final product, but I can tell you that I got the Copain Approval on the first bite.  Ouf.

Also - very important addition to this blog post - I noticed that my boucher has a dedicated caissière, who only handles money and NEVER touches the meat. Glorious.

I heart my boucher.

Stay tuned for the roti de boeuf, which is next on our list...

Le Gigot d'Agneau

Yesterday I got a scary text from Copain:

Copain: I'll be your top chef tonight. I'll send you the menu later.

I responded: Haha ok (not to doubt his cooking skills, buuuuut, remember the calamari and spinach hot pocket?)

10 minutes later...

Copain: I'm going to get filets de Dorade and gigot d'agneau for tonight.

Worried that I was going to end up with a surf and turf disaster, I answered: Or maybe just one or the other?

Sure enough, Copain came home from Picard with Dorado filets, a bag of frozen broccoli and a gigantic gigot d'agneau.

Then, in true form, he cooked the fish and the broccoli for dinner (because cooking fish and broccoli isn't rocket science!) and declared me the cooker of the gigot d'agneau. 

Like I've ever cooked a gigot d'agneau.

ps - what the hell is a gigot d'agneau?

At lunch I told my colleagues that I would be cooking a gigantic gigot tonight - Copain's idea. One of them jokingly asked me if it would fit in my oven.  I laughed and told him of course it would, but what I didn't think about was the Pyrex dish:

This is one enormous gigot. I had to put the dish on a cookie sheet to catch any fat that may drip off the end. I obviously have no idea what I'm doing.

I decided to bust out the cookbook from Belle Mère to help me in my gigot feat. I had most of the ingredients, so I went with this option:

The gigantic gigot is now in the oven and Copain and I are noshing on olives while the darn thing cooks - for over an HOUR.  

This is so not a weekday dinner. 

Stay tuned - in an hour I'll put this thing out of the oven and cross my fingers that it's edible.

Paris Eats - Un Diner Presque Français

Copain and I were invited to a Franco-Américain dinner party last weekend entre amis.  It was a dinner of the potluck variety, which was hard for Copain to understand, but once we got there I think he got the idea.  We were asked to bring the apéritif, the hostess was in charge of the main course, another friend brought the accompagnement, another the dessert and so on. Everyone brought une bouteille de vin.  The theme for this particular repas was français or presque français since we Americanized the organization of it all! (potlucks are fun!). Check out our fabuleux French dinner...

Boeuf bourguignon, gratin dauphinois and vin rouge - Julia Child style!

Fromage!

Fromage that got too close to the stove...

Homemade éclair au chocolat (isn't this impressive of my copine??)

Un gateau fondant au chocolat... with perfect nappage chocolat

Close up on the éclairs

My very own slice of fondant -and no, I did not share, even when Copain asked me to.

Un petit café to complete a perfect meal (made in a French press no less! ha!)

I Love " My Life in France" (and I love my life in France :-)

Remember the adventure with books that I began this summer thanks to Amy and Neither Here Nor There? (and my Moomala who bought the books bien sur!)

Well, I finished one of them!  My Life in France by Julia Child with Alex Prud'homme (don't you love how French his name is?!) was hard to get into at first.  I couldn't quite accept Julia's "voice" or her writing style.  It also kind of bothered me that while it was started before her death, it was published afterwards by her husband's, grandnephew, Alex Prud'homme. I felt like it was choppy and I couldn't quite follow where she was going in each chapter. Was this Alex's voice or Julia's?

Despite the rocky beginning I eventually fell in love with Julia.  I looked forward to going to bed so that I could read, I neglected by blogs (just as I suspected) and I felt a cosmic connection to Madame Child and her love for France, her "spiritual homeland", as she called it. Comme je la comprends....


I loved that she was from California (comme moi!), that she loved to eat (comme moi!) and that she could complain about France and sing its praises all at the same time (oui, moi aussi).  I never knew my grandmothers and I can only imagine that Julia would have made an amazing one for me...

She laughs about all her mal-entendus with the Frenchies, her fight to pass her diplôme at Le Cordon Bleu and her dedication to the creation of her now famous cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking.  Her relationship with Paul Child is nothing less than incredibly special and somewhat quirky - what other couple sends Valentines with a photo of themselves in the bathtub?!

I was fulfilled when I finished the book but also triste that there wasn't more to read.  I've started a few books since then but nothing has pulled me in quite as quickly or completely as My Life in France.


Alors, merci Julia - j'ai adoré! et comme tu dis, toujours bon appetit!

My Moomala snapped this pic while I was reading by the pool back home in California.

A special merci to Neither Here Nor There for a great reading suggestion!