Toast

Class holiday: Chapter Three, the last

Heaven on Seven, a farmers market, and the Jam Class Buffet

By Thursday morning, I had concluded that there was no denying my unexpectedly ravenous morning appetite. I guess I'm not usually particularly hungry for breakfast, because my real job is sedentary, and I don't generally work until nine at night, either. So I took my hungry self to Heaven on Seven, described by the Slow Food Chicago guide as "New Orleans North, " where I had the above-pictured breakfast of poached eggs and andalouille sausage on cheese grits.

I'm afraid that I chuckled when I saw the plated breakfast, which looks like the Fisher Price play clock we used to teach my daughter to tell time, in the analog days of yore. The waiter seemed a mite offended, though I meant only to show my appreciation. I made sure to tell him how delicious it was, and I think I was forgiven. It really was wonderful, everything cooked perfectly, and the chopped green onions on top were just the right touch.

Heaven on Seven is located on the seventh floor (hence the name) of the Garland building at 111 N. Wabash, across from Macy's- formerly Marshall Field.* The ambiance is Early Tabasco, and they serve a variety of wonderful looking gumbos and estoufees and other cajun specialties. It was seriously crowded for lunch, by the time I left, but easy to be seated for a late breakfast.

After breakfast, I headed on over to the Daley Plaza Farmers' Market, one of many downtown and neighborhood markets sponsored by the Mayor's Office of Special Events. This one is open on Thursdays. Beautiful flowers and fruits, vegetables, baked goods, surrounded by umbrella tables, and there was a cooling fountain, too. There is a rule that all food must be identified by point of origin, which is pretty cool-pretty much everything I looked at was grown by the people selling it, and was from Illinois or Michigan.

As a traveler, I was kind of frustrated, I would have bought loads if I was at home. But I did have a fridge in my room, so I got me some homemade cheddar and a mini ciabatti for sandwiches, as well as a small box of apricots. I was really pleased with everything, especially the apricots. I had just about given up on fresh apricots- though I love the dried ones.

Supermarket apricots generally taste like potatoes. These little guys were not particularly soft, but they were a lovely dark orange, with speckles, and the little boy selling them explained that there might be a few worm holes, as they hadn't sprayed for 2 years. I was glad I took a chance on them, they were sweet/tart and spicy- just delicious.

I gave one to the elderly lady sitting next to me on the plane home, and she agreed that they were heavenly. I also bought 2 bunches of beautiful Michigan asparagus, and carried them home in my tote bag on the plane. I was a little worried that they might be a problem with the security folks, but they passed through the x-ray without comment, and I was able to serve them to my friends Friday night.

The third night of class was as busy and informative as the first two; we finished and bottled up our chutneys and jams, and made numerous bottles of garlic dills. I was able to wrap my jam bottles in my laundry, to bring home in my checked suitcase, but had no room for 4 quarts of dill pickles, so those were donated to a classmate driving home. The final photo is Chef Bob Hartwig , arranging a gorgeous buffet of his beautiful baked goods and our mutual jams, jellies, chutneys and pickles. We tried everything, then packed up our loot, our certificates(!), and our French Pastry School aprons. Much though I love this supply of goodies, my most valuable memento is my little notebook of recipes, annotated with my class notes. And you will be seeing the results here, as time goes on.

Addendum

Things we made:

Lemon jelly with sliced lemons
Apple jelly with vanilla
Strawberry Mint Preserve
Orange marmalade
Blueberry preserve with red onions and sherry vinegar
Chocolate raspberry jam
"Nutella" type chocolate and hazelnut spread
Hazelnut praline
Dill pickles
pickling spice
Shallot confit

Demonstrated (and eaten!):

Pastry cream
Brioche dough
sweet tart pastry
lemon pound cake
Scottish buttermilk and cream raisin scones

Class Holiday: Chapter Two

Tuesday class, Wednesday wanderings, and Russian Teatime

I arrived at the French Pastry School offices a little early, as requested, to be given a pre-class tour of the place, which wound up in Kitchen Three, where Chef Bob Hartwig and his assistants were all set up. And I mean all set up. Unlike the students in the certificate program, continuing education participants have all our ingredients pre-measured for us and set up at our workspaces each day. Talk about pampering. There were only ten in the class, some food professionals, some semi-pros, who cater a bit, or sell some product to the public seasonally, and rank amateurs, like yrs truly.

Our instructor was a very clever young fellow, a good teacher, and a pastry chef of note, who clearly loves what he does, and communicates his passion for his work in a low-key, low-ego style, which is charming- and helpful. If you are thinking of taking a class at the FPS, I'm sure you will like this guy . You can read his bio on the FPS website, but what it does not tell you is that for the last year, he and his fiancee, also a chef, have had their own bakeshop in Chicago. It is called "Lovely".I wasn't able to visit it, but perhaps you can; I think it must be terrific, judging by the baked goods we sampled in class.

As a bonus, besides the jams, jellies and pickles, which we made ourselves after his demonstrations, Chef Bob, demonstrated and baked fantastic pound cakes, brioche, and some insanely good scones. There were also tarts in an special sweet pastry, with our marmalade, vanilla pastry cream, and pretty berries on top. I watched it all, tasted everything, and brought home the recipes, so look out! A member of the class asked him who would have the nerve to make their wedding cake, and he said that they were having pie instead. Which is genius in my book.

The first day we made, or started, orange marmalade, apple jelly with vanilla, strawberry-mint jam, chocolate raspberry jam and "nutella", and Chef Bob made or started the best scones ever, a sweet pastry with almond meal, brioche, and beautiful little pound cakes. You see in the photo two of my classmates- each of us shared workspace with another student. The mirror above allowed us to watch the product in demonstrations, a very handy teaching tool. It was very cool to see the various caramelization stages and techniques as they happened. Thus we learned to make a hazelnut praline for our nutella-nifty.

There were chef jackets to borrow, aprons and funny hats to keep. My partner was a real chef, Tim, who has an extremely cool, and apparently very upscale restaurant, the Stonehorse Cafe in Tulsa, Oklahoma. He was very kind and tolerant of my amateur clutziness.

I learned a whole lot of stuff, and am not going to attempt to convey much in the way of that sort of information here- I hope it will be reflected, to some extent, in future posts. However, one standout bit of info, which I somehow managed to avoid learning while making jam over the years, and was totally news to me, was the concept, and existence of the measurement of Brix. Brix (abbreviated"Bx") is a measurement of the ratio of dissolved sugar to water in a liquid. It is the ratio of sugar to total of the solution- so a 25Bx solution is 25% sugar and 75% water.

Here is the cool thing- if you didn't already know- perhaps this is general knowledge and I just missed it?- is that a solution which is going be jelled will be from 61-65 Bx. And you can measure the Bx with a little hand held Refractometer! Which we did. The deal is that it is not as magic as I thought it might be, our strawberry mint jam didn't jell properly, and made a lovely thickish sauce instead.

There are serious additional factors- eg. strawberries have a lot of water that leeches out over time. You are measuring the liquid while cooking it down, but it gets more water from the strawberries. Possible solutions include macerating the strawberries and sugar for a couple of days before cooking and including the exuding liquid in the measuring of the water. Or, as a classmate suggested; she lets her strawberry jam sit out and evaporate for a few days, then boils it up again before bottling up.

Nonetheless, the refractometer is a great tool, and I'm thinking about getting one. They are expensive- especially if you go for digital models. A handheld analog model, like the one we used in class is about $165. You have to make a lot of jam to warrant it, but still....Very easy to use- you smear a bit of your solution over a glass thingie like a lab slide, close it, and hold it up to the light to read.

Well, after class, I was really beat. 5 hours standing and/or perched on a stool after a major shopping day? Too old for this approach. So, I decided to take it easy on Wednesday. Basically, I ate too much breakfast again, goofed around, read my book, and visited an excellent poster shop, and had a lovely, if diminutive lunch at Russian Teatime. This restaurant, near the Art Institute, offers a variety of eastern european treats, and I wish I'd left myself the appetite for more. It is pleasantly dark and old-worldy looking, I'm a sucker for a gleaming samovar, and I dug it.

My lunch was small because I was still full from breakfast, alas. I had an appetizer portion of asparagus vareneky, a ukrainian dumpling- thin half moons of very thin noodle dough, filled with asparagus, red pepper, and feta cheese, boiled and served on a plate, drizzled with basil butter. I also had a glass of really lovely, properly hot russian tea, served with several kinds of pretty sugar cubes and lemon slices, as well as a complimentary loaf of some kind of oniony black bread, the remainder of which, I took away with me. All was delicious, and this time, I'd left myself enough time for a nap before class.

More about that, later.

First photo is from the FPS website; my camera photos of the process were too sad.

Class Holiday: Chapter One

In which she arrives, eats well, sleeps well, and shops excessively.

The idea for this trip started when I noticed, a few years ago, that Christine Ferber gave an annual class at the French Pastry School in Chicago. It was really expensive, but I thought I'd save my pennies and eventually get to see the goddess of jams and jellies in person and learn a few of her secrets. At the time I first noticed her class, it was open to "food enthusiasts" (hereinafter, as legal writers say, "FEs") and pros alike. I figured I'd stay in a hotel, and sightsee and/or shop in my off hours. When I finally had the time and money, the class had been changed to a pros-only event.

The FPS explained that after the prior class, they'd had the students fill out feedback forms. The FEs had complained that the class moved too quickly, while the pros had felt it was too slow-no doubt held back by the aforementioned FEs. So they decided to limit the class to pros and have another class that was more introductory. They assured me I'd enjoy that class, with "Chef Bob", and they were right.

The fellow you see pictured is not Chef Bob. In fact, he is entirely made of legos, and sits on a bench outside the Chicago legos store. I had a better photo of him, with his arm around an elderly (live) gentleman, who was waiting for his grandson, who was in the shop. He let me take his photo, but made me promise not to "put him on the internet", because, "My wife would kill me." Apparently she felt he might be (virtually?) kidnapped, and reappear on a porn site. So I will keep him safely ensconced on my own computer, having downloaded him from my phone. All the pictures you will see were taken on my phone- I cleverly forgot the camera.

Warning: Due to the nature of the travelogue/diary format, we don't actually get to the class itself until the next post. However, as a member of my class pointed out, Legoman is not entirely un-food-related. I'm not sure if you can tell from the phone-photo, but there is a chicken on his head, and a cracked egg on his shoulder. I'm just saying.

Somehow I have managed, once again, to begin with a digression, time-wise. So now I'm going linear: I flew into Chicago on Monday, and the plane was delayed, convincing me that my day-ahead approach was best. Despite an ETA of 1:30, and a class time of 4pm, I would have been late if the class had started Monday. Tim, my bench partner in class, flew in from Oklahoma on Tuesday morning-and sure enough, it made him a little late. It seems that all planes are now presumed delayed, unless the stars align just so. There was an unexpected bit of good luck on board, however. I was crazy, and ordered coffee. It was excellent. I mentioned my surprise and happiness to the flight attendant , who smiled slyly. "That's because it's from the pot I made for myself," she said.

I stayed at a hotel called the "Club Quarters" on West Adams, which I picked mostly because it was in very easy walking distance from the FPS, thus eliminating worries about finding my way back after class, at night. The hotel is part of a small chain, and supposed to be in some way private; but I booked it through Expedia, so how private is that? Still, you can't just call up to make a reservation; I tried that first. I recommend it highly.

What a deal! For $125 per night, in the middle of the Loop, I got a very large, ultra clean room. It had a huge desk, with reference books above and 2 ergonomic chairs, a bathroom with shower and the usual amenities, a flat tv, (which I never turned on, having a good book, and being too busy), a full kitchenette(!), a super, super comfortable bed, WIFI, and a real coffee maker with really good coffee to make. I suspect the decor is what they think businesspersons would like, very plain, dark blue and green necktie prints. I wasn't expecting Paris with a balcony, so it was more than fine with me- I prefer it to the usual mid-priced hotel idea of prettiness- I just bought a few flowers for cheer, as I was staying 4 nights.

Another reason for being glad I came the day before class started was that it gave me a chance for an evening meal, and it was a good one. I had dinner at Brasserie Jo, the "more casual bistro" of Chef John Joho of the super-posh Everest restaurant in Chicago, as well as the "Eiffel Tower" restaurant in the Paris Hotel, Las Vegas. I came to town with a copy of the Slow Food Guide to Chicago. The idea was that I would do some sight-seeing and/or shopping in the morning, find someplace neat to eat my main meal of the day at lunchtime, and then have a little rest before the 5 hour class, repeat X3, with possible light snack supper after class in my room. So this was to be my only major evening meal.

I really enjoyed my dinner at Brasserie Jo. Though I am not shy, and have had many meals out on my own, I have been a little cowed by the idea of a really special meal out, all alone. In part, this is because eating is such a social activity in my mind, but only in part. I think I was mostly nervous that the other diners and the wait staff might think it odd, or feel sorry for me, and that I would sense this, and rush- spoiling the entertainment of it all. Also, I was a little worried that it might be tricky to get a taxi afterward, in the dark.

Not a bit of it...it was great. I got a little bit dressed up, grey silk jacket, strappy sandals, and felt very woman-of-the-world the whole time. My photos of the restaurant are useless, due to dim lighting, many mirrors, and my lack of skill. You can check it out at the website.

It is a nice example of traditional brasserie decor, art deco-y, and less crowded between the tables than is the usual brasserie custom- all to the good. Personally, I am comforted by banquettes, mirrors, wood, brass and displays of magnum bottles of wine on shelves. Perhaps I was taken to such a place as an infant? The very look and feel of this sort of room makes me hungry.

Dinner was delicious, and I enjoyed being fussed over by my very young waiter, who took my salad off my bill because he was disappointed that I hadn't finished it. (The vinagrette was too salty for my taste- the only, and minor, flaw in the meal.)

Chef Joho is a native of Alsace, and the menu reflects this heritage. There was so much to choose from, many delicious things- sweetbreads with crisp macaroni, escargot, flammkuchen of several kinds, duck rilettes; I was wildly torn, until I saw my very favorite thing, skate wing with brown butter and capers. When I ordered it, the baby waiter broke suavity, and cried, "Ack! I love that! That's totally the best thing on the menu!" Which was, you know, endearing. The skate was served over some delicious, very creamy mashed potatoes, and a little fresh spinach, with small curls of very crispy, but pale-colored fried onion, or maybe leek? I absolutely cleaned my plate with the help of some of my very own small baguette, made (well) by a bakery down the street.

Dessert was creme brulee, very considerately prepared in a shallow dish, allowing for plenty of the ultra-thin, crackly top to go with each bite of the smooth custard. I took the rest of the baguette back to the hotel with me, and pretty much just crashed. I mean, you know, I was trying to read this very interesting book (about which more later), and woke to find it's form imprinted on my cheek, the book open to page twenty. Fortunately, I was in bed while reading.

Tuesday morning, I hit the hotel restaurant- a proto pub called the Elephant and Castle- for an insanely huge "English Breakfast", which involved grilled mushrooms and tomatoes, "bangers"(a/k/a fat sausages), cubes of fried potatoes, and eggs. This caused a revision of the lunch plan, as I was stuffed to the gills, and rendered unable to consider another meal of significance until the following day. Okay, really. I love to eat a big breakfast out, and walk away from all the greasy dishes, like a guest at the Mad Hatter's tea party. After a brief trip to the building across the street to stock the fridge with sandwich stuff, and buy flowers, I did me some shopping.

I started at Vosges Haut-Chocolat (520 N. Michigan) to pay my respects at the home of my very favorite chocolate treat- the Barcelona Bar-(Deep milk chocolate, almonds and sea salt). Owner chocolatier Katrina Markoff creates incredible flavor combinations in her truffles, hot chocolates and chocolate bars- kaffir lime, cardomom, wasabi, chipotle- crazy but delicious, and somehow never weird. I stocked up on candy bars, and also tried a fancy box of nine marshmallow toffee chocolate things, a new and very worthy item, which they store in the freezer. Each one is pretty much a dessert unto itself. I got four free truffles for having my own shopping bag to carry off my loot.

Other stops included the Lego Store (900 N. Michigan) and Nordstrom Rack (the discount shop for the department store, it's near Macy's-formerly Marshall Field). At the latter, they were having a sale of large sized shoes! (I'm an eleven- a size not carried at all in many shops; I was over the moon.) It took me way too long to pick out my bargain- the choices were so overwhelming, and the prices so good. I decided to go for the crazy, since they were so affordable, and now I have some silvery Taryn Rose sandals.

I gave myself a good 2 hours turnaround time for class, and headed back to the hotel, a little more footsore than was really wise, under the circumstances. But more on that, later.

See You Later

Off to England on Thursday- I'll be back in early March. I may try out Typepad's iphone widget, assuming that my converter will let me charge up the li'l machine. If so, there may be a strange post or two with phone-camera photos. Otherwise, see you when I get back.

In Which She Goes to Nantucket and Not So Surprisingly, Walks, Eats and Shops

Call me crazy, but my favorite bit (apart from seeing my friend Cindy, of course) of my little New England holiday was the sperm whale skeleton at the Nantucket Whaling Museum. Is it not awesome? You can see the size of the whale, as compared to the whaling boat below it. How would you like to ride for hours in one of those, attached by a harpoon to an angry whale trying to detach you and your whaling cohorts?

We heard a talk, and saw a whaling film from 1922. Also, though you can't see this, really, in the photo, the whale is almost all head, with a curved pre-historic looking tail, but also these amazing flipper-things. The flipper bones are exactly like the skeleton of a huge human hand- all the digits, and knuckles -everything. Oh, what can I say, I am a big geek. I adored it.

The Whaling Museum, and indeed Nantucket in general, is in such quiet, pretty good taste as to set off warning bells. Cindy thought her daughter, who has very specific, somewhat spartan aesthetic standards, wouldn't like it- for being too picturesque and perfect, and I could definitely see what she meant.

We stayed in a grey shingled B and B with shining white trim, in a sweet attic room with sloping ceilings, and crisp white cotton curtains, whch was perfectly coordinated with all the rest of the surrounding pretty houses, set off by just enough really nice flowering shrubs, and brick and cobblestone streets.

I was somehow just fine with it, anyway, despite the whiff of expensive stage set- it just completely hit the spot for unboring restfulness. It was delightfully cool- as compared to the ridiculous record-breaking high temperatures at home. Also, I just really like seeing sailboats in water. Does something for me every time. I should get a toy boat for my bathtub.

We took the ferry from Hyannis, lugged out suitcases up the steps at the B and B, and basically spent the rest of the weekend wandering about lazily, looking at the museum, shops, sailboats and menus in the numerous restaurant windows, deciding what to eat later. We had some damned good food, which sort of surprised me. Not that I was expecting to be poisoned- I realize that the general moneybags summer Nantucket crowd would expect, and get a decent effort, but I hadn't hoped for actual wonderfulness. And we had some wonderfulness, plus quite a bit of very goodness. The food was a real treat.

We hadn't done much in the way of research about food ahead of time- just a wee bit of an egullet scan. This revealed a number of good candidates for serious breakfasts, and I do love breakfast out. But the B and B came with a perfectly adequate buffet breakfast, so we didn't try any of that. Our two best meals were dinners, one casual, one dress-up. At the Brotherhood of Thieves- which may be better known as a bar than restaurant, I think, we had a local not-too-pale pale ale (forget name-sorry), and shared some oysters. Cindy had a really good big dinner salad- and I had a lobster BLT which was excellent- with, inter alia, huge chunks of lobster in mayo- plus outstanding curly french fries of total fresh hotness. I would be happy to have that meal again several times over.

At The Bistro at le Languedoc (fancy but comfortable, dark, quiet-ish, plenty of space between big tables, long wine list), we each had the same entree. It was sweetbreads and pork cheeks- 2 each- in a deep red-brown madeira sauce with itty bitty onions and peas, over a soft puree of sweet potato. I kind of picked it because it was that-which-you-cannot-get-at-home, and I love sweetbreads. I had read of pork cheeks-but never had any before. Wow-they set each other and everything else off a treat. I was so not disappointed, and pretty much wound up licking the plate. There was excellent crusty bread, which looked ordinary, but was outstanding, so I went the mopping it up route-I couldn't bear to leave any. Cindy also though it was all great. By far the best food I've eaten out for a good long time.

The Bistro's menu is a little puzzling at first, but the waiter explained, when asked. Entrees seemed divided into two types-the usual and the unusual, though not so-labeled. The unusual entrees were available both in full and small sized portions. The full-sized portions (we had these) were just right- neither skimpy arty little dodads, nor giant, gotta-have-a-doggie bag opulent. Only the anoerxic would seriously want a half sized portion for dinner- but these entrees did not seem the sort of things you'd want for an appetizer, either. Per the waiter, the half sized portions were for those unsure of their reaction to the more novel items. Still, I don't see what the rest of their order would be. This was of no consequence to us, as we didn't fear any of the more creative entrees, and had a hard time choosing.

Also at the Bistro, there was a super good classic creme brulee for dessert. Someone once said that the true test of a restaurant, or chef, or something- was the quality of the simple roast chicken and the creme brulee. Despite the ring of affectation..I think it's probably true. Cindy had a sort of deconstructed tart tatin- she seemed to think it was nice, but wasn't moved to tears or anything. I did taste it, but was by then so stuffed that I don't really remember it. I sure would like to eat there again some time.

I'm kind of winding down with the yakking here, though I probably should mention some expensive, but really good homemade icecream- at a place the name of which I forget, but it's just right by the ferry. There was blackberry-so good, and there was green tea/ginger- also so good.

Oh, and there was shopping of the sort to induce dawdling, including a shop called Majolica, filled with an incredible selection of the same, with many eccentric individual pieces. There were antique shops of several kinds. I bought a couple of things, one at a Tibetan shop. There I got me a warm, pretty winter hat of black velvet, lined in silk with a satin ribbon and a border of fake fur (per the proprietor, whose father made the hat, the D.Lama suggests the use of the fake fur whenever reasonably possible, instead of the real article!). I have a giant head, like an extra large man's hat size- so it was both unusual and cheering to find a nice hat that neither sits atop my skull like a clown's derby nor looks as if it was meant to be worn by a lumberjack. I almost wish I'd bought two- there was another very nice one which also fit.

I also found some slippers to take to my two year old relative (first cousin twice removed -ha- sort of a grandcousin) Ella, when I go to England in February. These are like tiny multi-colored bear feet, beautifully made and lined, and with 3 golden fabric claws on each foot. I think they will make her look like she is from Where the Wild Things Are. Which, judging from her pictures, she already rather does- a Sendak-ish lovely little face.

Ah well, I am a bit wistful about being back to home and work. I liked those gray clouds and sailboats..I do believe the salt air and gray skies are therapeutic, and that ocean breezes blow the cobwebs out. Also, islands are cool. I think I'd better go cook something. In honor of the (at last) cool weather, I'm going to make Arlette's pea soup.

Plunder

You see before you everything I bought on my trip to New York, with the exception of a postcard (and, of course, things eaten on the spot). It was a MOMA postcard- of a Picasso still life, cubist, predominantly green. It is a favorite of mine, and I was delighted to see the real thing, for the first time. It was every bit as terrific as I thought it would be. I was going to put the card in a little frame and have it on my desk at work, so I could look at it all day long. However, I uncleverly lost it on the way home. Phooey. I must say though, that this has been the only bit of unpleasantness I've met up with in the past week. Which is pretty much a record.

My excellent cousin L. has been visiting from England, and I have been on vacation from work. We went to New York, and met up with C. who came in from Connecticut to join us in hedonistic activities. Since coming back, we have been doing all sorts of good things around Pittsburgh, too. Though it is late November, the weather has been insanely sunny and temperate the whole time. Today, after attending my mother's 82nd birthday party/lunch, we walked coatless to (and then around) the Phipps Conservatory, Pittsburgh's recently renovated Victorian greenhouses. These faceted and domed glass houses have rooms full of horticultural exotica and are home to the Christmas flower show. We've been leading this sort of charmed life all week.

I've been smug about keeping the retail activity pretty well under control, by sublimating most of my shopping impulses helping L. pick gifts to take back with her. (I did actually break down today and buy some really beautiful earrings. They look like a little sprig of rosemary, with thin needles of greeny bronze, and each needle on a tiny hinge sort of thing, so they move slightly and feel soft when you touch them. I was ambushed by them, not expecting to be accosted by beautiful earrings at a garden shop-I'm sure you will see that I was more or less helpless, under the circumstances.)

When I asked some New Yorkers among you for food shopping recommendations, Kalustyan's was easily the most often mentioned. Bakerina, for example, noted that I could not really justify passing up a shop selling 60 different kinds of rice. So true. I really can't begin to describe how wonderful this place-indeed the whole street-smells. It is a paradise with a selection of so many kinds of pistachio nuts, olives, dried apricots-everything- that they cannot be counted, and it's all beautiful. Small, with narrow aisles-I'm not at all sure how they got all that stuff in there. Well worth the squeeze.

Three of the four selections are from Kalustyans. I was overwhelmed, and decided to get just a few things I had wanted, and failed to find in Pittsburgh. They are:

1) pumpkin seed oil (mentioned by Deborah Madison as an addition to a winter squash soup, and sounding interesting),
2) rose syrup (because I've recently discovered I like flavoring food with flowers sometimes),
3) grains of paradise- a spice resembling, in some ways, pepper- described with enthusiasm by Amanda Hesser, to the point of making me very curious,
and from the Greenmarket:
4) a bunch of culinary grade, unsprayed lavender (because I like baking with lavender, very much).

I haven't done a thing with any of my loot yet, but indeed to soon. If you have any information or suggestions on the subject items, I'd appreciate hearing about them. Tomorrow, I have to go back to work. L. is in the air, on her way home. At least the weather is still unseasonally charming.

Home

Home again. I was pretty well bowled over by the beautiful and various buildings in the area surrounding our eccentric , cosy, comfortable New York hotel (okay, our hotel has, like, horns on it, which look like those curvy Morrocan lamps, but they grow on you-no, not literally) and in particular Madison Square- this little park nearby. You can see the famed Flatiron building here in the photo- but all around there were more buildings of different heights and materials, with cool half-circle windows, or ziggurat tops, or patterned brick, or freestanding classically draped statues poised on the pointy bits. (Note how familiar I am with architectural terminology..) And the park has the best trees, really nice old twisty shaped ones, and terrific looking plantings. There's even a steel deco refreshment stand. Feast for the eyes, folks. (You can see the refreshment stand more clearly if you click on the bottom photo.)

Other feasting was also accomplished. We ate skate at the Metro Marche'- bistro food in a fairly recently opened restaurant in the actual bus station (really), yummy Indian food at the Copper Chimney, and delicious, delicious Persian Food in overwhelming quantites , thanks to and in the lovely company of the delightful Bakerina and Julie, of A Finger in every Pie. (Thank you, thank you- so good) We had great salady things with roasted vegetables with beautiful Luisa at the City Bakery, and I got some insanely good pretzel croissants there which lived up to my expectations and then some. And on and on.

We lucked into a wonderful, hysterical play ("The Mail Order Bride")...sadly, I can't urge you to see it- the last night was tonight..went to the Green Market, and bought a bunch of cool stuff at Kalustyan's-about which more later. We looked at paintings at MOMA for most of a day well spent. I hope to get to tell you more, but it may be awhile...my visiting cousin is still visiting-and we've got stuff to do and Thanksgiving pies to bake. I'm making some more no-knead bread, too- got it started-this will be my third loaf. I just didn't want you to think I'd gone to New York and forgotten all about you.

Thank you for the delicious cookies, and the hotel recommendation, Luisa, so kind, and all great. Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Come Back Soon

I'm off to NYC for a semi-long weekend of irresponsible pleasures. I'll be home on Tuesday, and probably posting shortly thereafter. Of course, I'll miss you terribly, but I feel it's my duty, you know. I mean, I haven't been to NY for several years. I'm sure you understand..

Picture is what you see if you look up while leaving the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company in the Strip District.

Clem's

I am very happy to be home. Spending most of the week in seminars didn't leave much time for looking for new places of interest in State College, PA. Clem's is neither new nor new to me, but there is good reason to stop there on the way home from these festivities, and we always do. Located just outside of Blairsville, PA, about an hour away from Pittsburgh, it has a big old wood barbeque pit. They make ribs and chicken, and serve all the usual sides-potato salad, coleslaw, baked beans- and have several excellent brands of root beer.A person can be very happy here.

I have never stopped at Clem's, day or night, when they didn't have cars and trucks in the parking lot. You can smell the place before you see the "1/2 mile to Clem's" sign, and it smells spectacularly good.A while back they burned most of the place down with an overenthusiastic fire, and we were having some withdrawal pangs and anxiety. But they rebuilt, and the place looks just exactly the same. If it wasn't entirely lacking in artful display, I'd say they'd aged it, to
take off the new shine. I think it's just the woodsmoke though; things do get dusty pretty fast.

Clem's sauce is great, and you can buy a big old reusable quart ball jar of the stuff for $6.50. It is neither bland nor superhot, just kind of the perfect essence of red barbecue, where the individual ingredients are not discernable. I bought some, of course, and what I do with it is so completely nothing special, that I would be embarassed to tell you if it wasn't so good. I put a piece of pork shoulder in a slow cooker, pour the bottle over it and cook it all day. That's all. I do it a day ahead, chill it, peel off the fat on top, shred the meat, and serve it on toasted onion rolls with aforementioned sides.

This should be followed by pie. watermelon. or ice cream. But you knew that.

Midnight Onion Soup Anytime

Patricia Wells , in The Paris Cookbook, noted that there are "few Parisian traditions as solid as the late-night onion soup feast at the Brasserie Balzar on the Left Bank." Had I been fully aware of this, we probably never would have set foot in the place. We would have assumed it would be crowded and overpriced and full of grumpy waiters and determined tourists. We would have been not have been 100% off base in those assumptions. But we wouldn't have been 100% right, either.

I was in Paris for a few days with L, my cousin and friend, having come over from her home in England for a few days, without a lot of money to spend. We had a Left Bank hotel bargain and plans to meet up with her Parisian friends S. and husband J-L. for one really nice meal, which had been planned by J-L, a clever fellow about food, who loves to figure out special food and wine treats. Other than that we were really just wandering around having a relaxed, wonderful unplanned time, oogling the flower markets, listening to free concerts and eating more or less on the fly-picnicing and so on.

One evening though, we returned to the hotel pretty hungry, after a lot of time on our feet in hilly Montmartre, and had not done anything much about food. We decided to spend a bit and go out for some supper. The Brasserie Balzar was near our little hotel, and looked fine, dark wood , brass and all. It was only about 6:30, early for dinner, so not too crowded. We had some really very nice roasted chicken, a tomato salad, and an exemplary creme brulee, for not too much more than it was all worth. Though the waiters made it clear that they were extremely unimpressed with us, they weren't hostile. The service was, while not actually pleasant in any way, reasonably efficient, and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal.

The place looked the complete Parisian brasserie in every detail, almost like a cartoon. As I was eating and looking around, an American mother and her teenaged daughter came in and both ordered only onion soup. (Evesdropping was unavoidable; we were seated at the next table.) This seemed an odd order for the time of day, and I started putting two and two together. I realized it was that place, and they were ordering the obligatory onion soup- only earlier than prescribed time.

Thus, though I have been to this iconic spot, I did not try the onion soup there. I have always liked traditional gratineed onion soup, and have not tired of it, or decided that it is old hat, or anything of that sort. I suspect that it is uncool, but then, so am I. In fact, I was thinking I'd like some for supper tonight. I am not working today- it is chilly, and I am spending the day indoors, nursing an incipient cold, napping with cats, and being entirely lazy, except for some unavoidable laundry.

Instead of just starting to make some soup, I decided to lazily potter around looking at some recipes, and came across the Balzar one in Ms. Wells' book. She answered a question which had puzzled me- Isn't onion soup at midnight asking for trouble? Sure, it would be warming and fun, but talk about indigestion.... going to sleep on a big gooey pile of cheese and dark cooked onions seems like tempting fate, no? According to Ms. Wells, this is a much more digestible version than some others, in part because chicken stock, rather than beef broth, is used. All over, the recipe is a bit lighter than the usual- but don't worry, you won't be hungry. It suited me, as I had a supply of homemade chicken stock, but no beef stock. I only adapted it slightly, to suit myself. I'm not going to be saving it for midnight. It's awfully good - and this is how you do it.

You need:

3lbs onions, peeled and sliced very thinly
6 tbspoons unsalted butter
3 tbsps canola oil
1 tsp sea salt
4 tbsps flour
3 cups rich homemade chicken broth and jellied juice from a roast chicken, if you have it
2/3 cup dry white wine (I used Muscadet)
freshly ground pepper
sprigs of thyme and 2 bay leaves, which I put in my recently acquired large stainless teaball for easy removal
thin slices of toasted good bread ( pref. the sort with a chewy interior )
2/3 lb of freshly grated gruyere, best you can afford

This is what you do:
Melt butter in a big soup pot. Add oil, onions, salt. Cook, stirring, over a low heat until onions are soft, but not browned. Sprinkle with the flour, and stir to coat. Add stock, wine and a quart of water, pepper and herbs in tea ball. Bring to a boil, turn down, and simmer gently, uncovered for half an hour. correct seasoning.

When you are ready to serve, preheat the broiler. Ladle soup into individual heatroof bowls. Top each with toasted slice of bread, and plently of grated gruyere. Broil. When the cheese is clearly bubbling, remove and serve, with warnings to watch for burning. This is incredibly hot, as soup should be. It is pretty important to use very nice stock and cheese, which can make all the difference. I happened to have some onions from my CSA farmbox as well, which were lovely and crisply fresh.

I believe that both onions and chicken soup are good for the treatment of colds. I feel quite well treated.