Power Puffs

I am so in! After 3 years in the neighborhood, I finally have some “bargaining power” with my local shopkeepers. So far the only shop nearby that recognizes me is the Italian traiteur. Since I happened to be walking home with a cake box just bursting with beautiful handmade “choux” (cream puffs), I decided to pop in and test my newfound powers of persuasion.

Luckily the very jolly-looking chef was in the shop having a hand-wavingly animated discussion in Italian with the saleslady, accompanied by French rap radio as only happens here. I proudly flashed them my wares and was immediately rewarded with oohs and aahs, which was very polite of them given there is a quite decent authentic boulangerie / patisserie right across the street.

At first my new friends wanted to keep the entire box of goodies but I probably looked so hungry and desperate that they ended up taking one each of “chou chantilly” and “chou à la crème”, garnished with a few sugary “chouquettes”. After the chef and I both confessed our hopeless gourmandise, I moved in for the kill.

I subtly (or not so subtly for those who have seen it before) gave him my best puppy dog eyes and my sweetest smile. Pause. He suddenly decided I was worthy of VIP status and started moving towards the liquor cabinet. “Limoncello, carina?” Et là, mes amis, victoire!

~ “Pâte à Choux” ~ (cream puff pastry)

Makes:
- “Chouquettes” (small, sweet puff pastry covered in pearl sugar)
- Cream puffs (fill with your choice of whipped cream, custard, etc.)

Ingredients:
- 125 g water (½ cup)
- 125 g milk (½ cup)
- 2.5 g salt (½ tsp)
- 5 g sugar (1 ¼ tsp)
- 125 g butter, cut into small pieces (½ cup)
- 150 g flour, sifted (1 ½ cups)
- 250 g eggs, beaten (4 to 5 eggs; 8.8 oz)
- melted butter, to glaze

How to:
1. Preheat oven to 220°C (425°F)

2. In a saucepan, gently heat the water, milk, salt, sugar and pieces of butter while stirring with a wooden spoon. Once the butter is melted, turn the heat up to medium until the liquid comes to a boil

3. Remove from heat, add all the sifted flour at once and stir energetically until combined

4. Return to medium low heat and stir constantly until the mixture comes away from the sides of the saucepan and makes a thick, smooth ball, about 1 minute

5. Transfer the batter to a mixing bowl and stir occasionally to let cool, about 2 minutes

6. Mix in half of the beaten eggs with the dough. Stir until combined. Continue mixing in half of the remaining eggs until the batter is shiny and smooth. Stir more and more slowly as the batter gets closer to the desired consistency

7. Grease a baking sheet (i.e. with a butter spray) and wipe gently with a paper towel to remove the excess. The sheet should not be too greasy or else the batter will not adhere correctly

8. Decorate the baking sheet
* For “chouquettes” (baby puffs)
- Fill a pastry bag with a plain tip (or a plastic baggie with the corner snipped off) with some of the batter. Pipe or use 2 spoons to drop approx. 1” rounds of batter onto the baking sheet
- Press plenty of pearl sugar crystals (or the largest sugar crystals you can get your hands on) over the top and sides of the baby puffs.
Note: If my chef ever found out I might get expelled for this, but I don’t see why you can’t substitute sprinkles or chocolate chips for the pearl sugar. Just make sure the batter is completely cooled before adding. It’s not entirely French but why does tradition have to dictate law?

* For cream puffs (mamma puffs)
- Fill a pastry bag with a plain tip (or a plastic baggie with the corner snipped off) with some of the batter. Pipe or use 2 spoons to drop approx. 2” rounds of batter onto the baking sheet
- Brush the tops of the pastry shells with a very small amount of melted butter
- Press the tops of the pastry shells gently with the back of a fork twice at 90° angles to make a lattice mark to stabilize them during baking

9. We’re almost there!
- Bake at 220°C / 425°F (temperature and cooking time may vary depending on the oven) for about 35 minutes. Prop the oven door open ever so slightly towards the end of baking to allow the shells to dry out better
- Remove from the oven and let cool on a wire rack

You can enjoy the baby puffs once cooled. You can cut the caps off of the mamma puffs and fill with your choice of sweet whipped cream, custard, ice cream (again, not entirely tradi) or whatever grabs ya. Replace the caps and dust with icing sugar (optional).

Ya mi!

Mon Café à Moi

So, remember when I said I boycotted “my” local café because they changed owners and the service became crap? Well, when I saw a big “Changement de Direction” sign and a new name on the café, I was intrigued. I walked in this weekend and was greeted with an almost overeager, overfriendly service. WTF? What the heck happened here? Friendly service? In Paris? In my formerly beloved café that has let me down so much that I couldn’t set foot within for 2 years?! I could actually feel a real EFFORT to satisfy the clients. What a concept! The former owners are back!

I had a surprisingly good day, starting with a visit to the “Prefecture de Police” to get my visa renewed. It has been an ordeal so far but I was pleasantly surprised when I got a “recipissé de demande” after only half an hour. Although I will have to go back in December (I sent in my application in August, mind you) to get my real visa, at least I have an extension of my visa now.

After class, I had an interview / meeting with my new boss at the restaurant. Although it doesn’t have any Michelin stars, it seems to have a pretty good reputation. The chef kept insisting that I must show my motivation all the time…which will be difficult – especially when I’m dead on my feet. While it is pretty exciting to be starting a new adventure, it’s also a bit scary. The chef seems to have high expectations and I’ll be working many many hours. Very tough, especially for me – I’m used to sitting on my a** at least 14 hrs a day - and I’ll only have Sunday and Monday off so my social life will really take a real hit…

Anyway, the best news of the day is: I was in a good mood so I walked in to “my” café, and lo and behold who do I get reunited with but the famous barman from my first months in Paris. He even recognized me and introduced me to everyone as an old, loyal client! I guess I must have spent a lot of money or made a big impression there in the past… I had only planned to spend 15 minutes max there but an older gentleman bought me some drinks and I ended up chatting it up with them like old friends for an hour an a half. Why oh why do I finally start feeling like I fit in when I am getting ready to leave??

Is This It?

I’m getting tired of getting sick so often. The incessant coughing definitely dampens my cuteness factor… Being ill and yet another restless night probably didn’t help me in our first day of solo-cheffing: 6 different types of “crudités” and a cheese soufflé.

I’m not sure if it was the fatigue, my general yucky state or just pure clumsiness, but I was a complete kitchen catastrophe today. I almost cut myself shredding veggies (thankfully, no injuries yet – knock on wood!) and kept bumping into inanimate objects, kind of like when I’m driving. How embarrassing to be the last person to finish, and still have to redo a botched Mornay sauce (béchamel, egg yolks and gruyère cheese). The chef and a classmate even had to help get me back on track to finish the soufflé batter in time.

What a tough day to have right after I re-motivated myself after a short vacation. Although my neighbor said I overmixed the batter and was so slow that my egg whites were deflating, I was relieved to see that my baby soufflé DID rise and didn’t even taste half bad!

I’m not really sure if I’m ready to start an internship so soon, since I can’t seem to escape the bottom of the class. I mean, what do they expect from an almost-CPA? ; ) The chef placed me at a Michelin-cited seafood restaurant in the Latin Quarter for a 10-week internship starting in a week and a half. If I succeed, someone will be very well fed. If not, he’ll just have to eat my famous instant noodles while I mope over an episode of Gray’s Anatomy. Watch out, little fishies!

The Beginning of the End

In French, “bonne femme” refers to a grandma-like figure or someone from the countryside. I would give some examples but the “gardienne” might get upset if I refer to her as such!

When I think of western grandma cooking, I imagine lots of butter and lots of love. But mostly lots of butter, which is exactly what the recipe for “Filet de Sole Bonne Femme” (sole filet with “bonne femme” sauce) calls for. A ton of butter. And cream.

Given my history of getting viciously poked by grandmas of all nationalities to encourage me to eat more (no need – I love to eat already!) and my experience of getting yelled at by the chef because I scraped off half the Béchamel sauce from my soft-boiled eggs, I thought I would hate this dish. Way too rich.

Unfortunately for my figure, one bite into the tender white flesh nesting on top of a bed of finely diced shallots and mushrooms cooked in a white wine broth was all it took to convert me. The unbelievably rich cream and butter reduction broiled to a beautiful golden crust finished me. I took another bite. And another and another… Chef’s belly, here I come!

Just Another Sunday

It’s the little things that get me every time. After an uneventful Sunday morning doing apprentice chef homework, which funnily resembles the monkey work I used to do at Lehman, I spent the noon hour whipping up some home-style Taiwanese food. Fried chicken, sautéed veg and rice. Mmmm…

I then canceled my afternoon swim lesson because I still have a bit of difficulty breathing due to a cold and “bronchite” from 2 weeks ago. Not being able to breathe in the pool would be a bad thing because your normally courageous reporter has a panic button that tends to overreact in the pool. And to think I was actually considering taking up surfing…

Anyway, I used the extra half hour for a cozy nap and moseyed over to church to sing in the worship team (band) for the first time since high school. This is definitely a year of firsts, or first-time-in-a-long-times. When I got there we realized there were no instrumentalists but thanks to a lot of prayer and pep talks we finally worked something out. I got thrown in the deep end and didn’t really even know some of the songs but it was still a great experience and I’m glad I was scheduled to start this week when there was a need for extra bodies.

The day ended on a sweet note when still warm from communion wine, I got a ride home on a super luxe scooter under a drizzly Parisian sky. It was the first time I noticed the “dame de fer” dressed in her latest designer robe – red and blue skirt and silver top, illuminating the autumn night. I truly am a lucky lady, huh?

Une Vrai Parisienne (sometimes)

The Paris-based American pastry chef and food writer, David Lebovitz (who I met!!), declared that he realized he had become a real Parisian when he felt the need to get properly dressed to take out the trash because after all, you WILL be judged on how you look over here. I, however, feel most Parisian when shopkeepers recognize me as a “regular”. It first happened at “my” café across the street with the cute bartender, which I had to ditch when it got bought out and gained 20 years in a day. I was also a regular at an Asian traiteur (deli / caterer) in Passy (I know I know) and a brasserie by my old office. The sad thing is when I walk into my new café (young and hip like me, ha!) and they immediately know what I want to drink, which usually isn’t water…


Today I stopped by a little Italian traiteur on the way home from class. The chef was there and coerced me into having an espresso like I used to do after my physical therapy sessions last year. I’m such a granny with my injuries (from classical ballet and charging at people with a sabre) and old habits sometimes! It’s so nice to be treated as a “valued customer” in Paris, where I usually feel like I’m intruding if I dare to want to buy something. I bought some stuffed foccacia, crocche, arancino, baby bread and green bean salad and he didn’t even charge me for the coffee! Or maybe he just forgot. Hmm…

Why I Cook

I am not a great cook. Well, at least not yet. I used to think my future family would be skinny and never have to go to the gym because I might accidentally poison them or they wouldn't like my food!

I have, however, always loved food. I used to cut out recipes from the LA Times paper and dutifully made color coded (nerd!) recipe collages when I was a teenager. As an aspiring ballerina, I made ultra fattening (man, were they good!) desserts, because forbidden = desirable. In college and beyond I was addicted to watching the Food Network and when I moved to France with an American TV, all I watched were old VCR recordings of Rachel Ray and Michael Chiarello.

Up until a year or 2 ago, I didn't spend any significant amount of time in the kitchen because my mother is a great cook and made great "doggie bags" that lasted me an entire week at university. When I started working as an investment banker there was even less need to cook since I ate 3 meals a day at my desk. I'm sure it wasn't very healthy gobbling down Cheesecake Factory takeout in 5 minutes flat amid a mountain of papers and Diet Coke cans, but I learned to live with the banker lifestyle.

One year, when I came back to France after Christmas holidays in LA, I suddenly couldn't stand the thought of eating one more choose-your-own-toppings pasta salad for lunch. I started fiddling around in my tiny kitchen on the weekends, cooking as many dishes as I could until I ran out of pots and pans. I got many comments from certain less than diplomatic colleagues along the lines of, "Ew, what is that smell?!?!?!" when I heated up my little bento at noon but I didn't care. I had Chinese food!

One great blessing I received when my bank collapsed was that I suddenly had more free time (wow!). I decided to volunteer at a local soup kitchen run by 4 American churches in Paris. I met many amazing volunteers in the numerous Fridays I spent at the American Cathedral kitchen and made some great friends. Although I was often teased about my less than stellar cooking skills, it was still such a rewarding experience to be able to cook a hot meal for homeless and needy guests.

Part of the "Friday Mission Lunch" team

I was reminded of "the joy of cooking" today (thanks, Bel!) when I helped cook a welcome lunch at my church with my home group. Life in culinary school can be tough but when I am in the kitchen for a good cause, I don't care about the fatigue anymore. It may not have been 3 star cooking but it was good food prepared with lots of love. It's such a privilege to be able to contribute like that and it has re-motivated me to face the week ahead. Bringing joy to others - that is why I cook...or try to cook!

School School

Going to cooking school started out as a desperate attempt to find a plan B when I became increasingly certain I wouldn’t get in to business school last year. If not an MBA, why not cook? Right. Here I am, a ballerina / study geek turned fanker (that’s a “fake investment banker” according to the Lehman Menlo Park crew) who was hardly ever allowed in the home kitchen for fear of giving her poor mother a heart attack! Me, become the next Julia Child or Anita Lo? Far from likely. I just hope to be able to make a decent meal for my friends the next time I entertain in my tiny overpriced Parisian flat and we’ll take it from there.

The program so far has been perfectly tailored to ambitious 17-year-olds. The chefs are extremely competent both in the kitchen and as teachers, which I think is rare. Unfortunately, I’m not a teenager anymore and the strict discipline, heavy “homework” load and general spell-everything-out-ness (“you must be on time and respect others”) is not the style I would have preferred.

The students are very motivated though and not at all what I imagined (you know, the trendy cliques roaming the malls and hanging out by the kebab stand). They do, however, still have that sagging thing going on and I am now privy to the underwear preferences of most of my male classmates…Despite all that, I am happy to finally meet people who also make a beeline for the cooking magazines at the newsstand and take pictures of food like Asian tourists in front of the Eiffel Tower (guilty as charged!).

So far we have had 3 days in the kitchen, which means 6:30am wake up call (ah, the familiar Blackberry alarm is back), 7:30am start, 8am lecture in the kitchen (no chairs to be found) and cooking until 2:30pm with major cleanup afterwards. I am developing beautiful legs from running up and down 5 flights of stairs and learning to eat as fast as a starving athlete. We have learned the basic stocks and sauces and I even cleaned a chicken – me, the girl with a deathly fear of pigeons and birds in general! It is definitely more tiring and less glamourous than I hoped but I’m learning a lot. Where else do you get to flambé whole chickens and run around with knife kits? Fun…

La Dernière Montée…

…loosely translated as “the last hill to climb” could be the motto of the class. However, in hiking, as in life, we never quite reach the last hill but rather, the last hill before the next hill to climb. Je m’explique. My first week in “school” was actually spent in the Jura mountains in the east of France, close to the Swiss border. It was a beautiful countryside filled with cows, forests and cheese…and cow dung. We spent a week “team building” by doing activities such as 7 hour hikes which seemed to never end, because there was always another hill and we always only had 15-20 more minutes to go, until we had yet another 15-20 minutes to go. We went mountain biking (through said cow dung) and zipped through the trees in an adventure course, complete with spectacular semi-landings.

My class is mostly made up of French recent high school grads and a sprinkle of older wannabe chefs, like myself. I do think I win the prize for having been on the earth the longest, though I hope I don’t look it! Among the non-17-year-olds is a former lawyer and a former language professor. I’m the only person from the business world, the only foreigner and the only Asian (hmm, reminds me of my last job). Sometimes these differences make me feel like an imposter, though I prefer to think of it as embarking on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure…

La Rentrée

Oh the excitement of going back to school, otherwise known as "la rentrée" in France, especially when your 10 year high school reunion is already coming up fast!

I walked up to ESCF (Ecole Supérieur de Cuisine Française) Ferrandi this morning decked out in my work suit (quand même!) and the Coach purse I bought when I got my first real job offer, ahem, 5 years ago. I took the "students forbidden" elevator with a friendly future classmate who innocently asked me if I also just passed my "bac" (French high school graduation exam). Hmmm, not exactly... When we passed a chef wearing the French colors on his collar, my heart skipped a beat. I was in the same building as a MOF! Now, I don't know about you but that acronym conjures up all kinds of ideas, kind of like the reaction some people get when they see the "FCUK" logo for the first time! Anyway, MOF stands for "Meilleur Ouvrier de France", a title given to the winners of a prestigious frenchy competition. In my amateur mind, it's like seeing an Iron Chef in person, but I may be insulting one or the other with this association.

It was an interesting day with 30+ of us new students sitting in an amphitheatre with the Very Important People from the corner offices first exchanging kisses and then talking at us kids about how we must be disciplined, show respect and not rebel. Fitting into the Mold is très important here. The school is very hierarchical but that could just be French organizations in general. We were shown the pictures of people we absolutely must say "bonjour" to in the halls. I had forgotten that we say "merci" and "au revoir" to someone who finishes a speech instead of applauding, which makes for an awkward murmur from all corners of the room. The chefs actually proposed a cigarette break (not coffee) and then we went on the grand tour.

Chef M showed us around and chuckled at how a group of Japanese students were paying 20,000 euros or so to study here, which is exactly why I'm putting myself through the frenchy program. The Anglo program is more than double the price of the French one but you get out of a bunch of more general classes which may be worth it at the end... The Chef greeted and was greeted by everyone it seems - I'm interested to find out what he's notorious for! Him and Chef C seem professional but are quite funny. Or, it could be that anytime someone uses slang that I actually understand it seems like a joke to me because I'm super proud of myself for getting it!

I'm looking forward to the stage d'integration next week. I'm not sure I'll make it back in one piece after a day with 7 hours of hiking but at least I'll be victorious in one thing. I may not have the strength of an 18 year old but my skin's sure gotten a lot better since! Mwahahaha

...elated

I just got some great news but I almost don't want to celebrate until it's sure sure, like when I can see the message in writing in my inbox... For the moment I've got too much "nervous" energy even though I'm pooped from velib'ing to and from the Mission Lunch kitchen where I worked all morning. I must really get back in shape...hah!
I feel like chopping something or cooking something elaborate to work it off but I don't want to stink up my whole living room for my weekend futon guest. Oh, the joys of living in a small and overpriced apartment with a tiny kitchen that opens out to the living room...
At least it's a beautiful day in Paris again! It figures. Of course I spent forever looking for a 10 centime item (I ended up getting a crepe spatula for 3.90 instead) to get free shipping for an online fan purchase last night after my cross-town trek to the Carrefour yesterday ended up in disappointment!

...feeling inspired

Yay! I've finally gotten off my lass and done it! Here is my latest attempt at keeping in touch with my lovely friends here in Paris, at home in beautiful Cali and all around the world. For the moment it's probably gonna be filled with more random musings and complaining about the heat and/or the French (I do it with affection, of course!) but I hope to be able to find time to post some recipes and thoughts about life in cooking school in Paris when it begins (a few more weeks to go), though I don't promise to only talk about French food. I miss my mom's cooking already!
Here we go!
Bises