This was published November 9, 2018 on Go Nomad. The link will take you to the full article with photos.
Unlike Julia, this one is actually French, male and does his thing in Cancale, Brittany. Jacques Antoine, a chef/sommelier at La Cuisine Corsaire, speaks excellent English, a good thing as his menu was fairly intricate. My foodie group had a great time watching his demo of Saint-Pierre Retour des Indes, basically, John Dory (the fish) with seasoning reminiscent of India, a recipe created in the 80s by master chef and spice dealer, Olivier Roellinger, the fish accompanied by a green apple and mango puree and a toss of green cabbage. We sat next to the area where Jacques worked, marveling at the stove top, a flat induction surface that someone described as “cooking as playing air hockey” as the top enables the chef to slide pans around. Jacques claims the surface—to date a strictly pro appliance–allows for greater control. I was also awe-struck by his filleting skills.
After Jacques cooked, he served the end result for a delicious lunch accompanied by an appropriate wine, (of course, it’s France.)
A demo/lesson at the cooking school costs about $80 pp which may depend on the size of the group. Here is the link to the school (in French only): http://www.cuisine-corsaire.fr/
After lunch, we staggered across the street to Grain de Vanille, a patisserie, for dessert. I had a Florentine, while others opted for the Kouign-amann which was better in terms of more caramel at other patisseries sampled during the trip. Cancale, known for its oysters, is attractive: little streets and alleys; antique shops, some good, some filled with standard-issue thrift; a movie theater. Behind the Roellinger spice shop, where every seed and powder is laid out as though on display in a high-end jewelry store, there’s a lovely little garden where I sat for a while for relief from the hot sun.
The day ended with a late afternoon sail in the Bay of Cancale. Jerome, the too-cool-for-school guy who sailed the boat also managed the food and drink while pointing out key islands. He handed out plastic glasses on ropes that go around the neck, and served a delicious, lethal cocktail of simple syrup flavored with vanilla, rum and cider. To go with this, he set out containers of both duck and mackerel rillettes, bread, tiny shrimp, (you’re supposed to shell them but the crunch is delightful so I didn’t), and roasted pumpkin seeds. The finale was oysters straight from the source, very salty and delicious with the bonus of throwing the shells overboard. The oysters kept coming until we could eat no more.
While we ate, sailed and watched the sunset, Mt. Saint Michel floated in the distance; up close was Poilane Island, a former fortress turned into a second home by the eponymous Parisian bread baking family whose son was killed in a helicopter crash. After the tragedy, the house was sold to someone who has revamped it in a sort of Japanese style. Huge and accessible only by boat, it’s probably wonderful but a little challenging to get to.
Apparently Brexit has had an anticipatory effect on British fishing for scallops in this bay which technically belongs to France. Some nasty encounters have taken place. Mon Dieu!
Personally, what I do with oysters is eat them. However, should you wish to, um, stir the pot, you could make Oyster Stew
Stir butter and garlic in stockpot over medium heat until butter begins to brown. Remove garlic and discard.
Pour sherry over shallots in the stockpot and bring to a boil while scraping any browned bits off of the bottom of the pot. Simmer until liquid is reduced by half, 3 to 5 minutes.
Pour reserved oyster liquor, milk, and cream into the stockpot; bring mixture to a simmer. Reduce heat to medium-low and stir in oysters; cook until oyster edges begin to ruffle, about 3 minutes. Remove from heat.
Stir in parsley; season with sea salt to taste. Ladle into bowls and garnish with sweet paprika and oyster crackers.
“Walk in, waddle out” was how a woman I met on my trip to Normandy and Brittany put it, referring to how we often felt after a particularly wonderful meal.
Looking back, it’s hard to single out one spectacular food or dish. Would it be the oysters eaten on a sailboat off the coast of the Cancale peninsula near Mt. St. Michelle, shucked as fast as we downed them by Jerome, the boat captain, an “I’m too sexy for myself’ type? The pudding-textured fresh, young Camembert, ordered and very kindly shared at Coeur Verte, a family-run restaurant near Mont Dol in Brittany—the cheese the consistency of Greek yogurt with a taste like heaven. But I’m omitting my pigeon at the same restaurant, served with the feet sticking over the edge of the dish (very chic, très French) and cooked
to perfection. Also overlooked, the ubiquitous Kouign-amann, (pronounced “queeen amon”), a classic Breton pastry whose name comes from the Breton words for “butter” and “cake.” It looks unpreposing but that caramelized top is TDF. Let’s not overlook a particular Grand Marnier soufflé or the
tiny fish packed with bits of pimenton we ate as part of a semi- impromptu picnic, as well as every really good croissant that was often part of a breakfast that might also include a special quiche and homemade preserves.
Lest this sounds like all I did was eat, I also climbed the three hundred fifty steps to the top of Mt. Sainte
Michelle as well as the 17th century bell tower in Batz-sur-Mur complete with narrow, winding steps and a dubious rope handrail, walked around the Normany beaches and the Guerande salt marshes where the famous Fleur de Sel is produced, and hiked through various parks and around lakes.
At home I think of butter as something I occasionally use on bread and often cook with. In this part of France where La Brun, French Simmental and Jersey cows graze the fields, butter is a religion. It has a totally different taste from American butter and I often ate more (delicious) bread then I’d planned simply to have a platform for the butter. And why not?
Although I did not eat this lovely sandwich on this trip, I’ve enjoyed it many other times. It’s easy and looks as good as it tastes. If you can get French butter, by all means do so. Ditto something close to a real baguette.
2 tsp. unsalted cultured butter. (The recipe suggests Plugra although real French butter has it beat every way)
In a small bowl, with a small spatula blend together butter and salt until butter is soft and airy. Spread baguette slices with butter, arrange radish slices on top, and finish with a grind or two of pepper.
This title has no relation to the film; it’s how I felt several times during last week at Chautauqua. If anyone said a cross word I didn’t hear it; when someone dropped something, inevitably others swooped in to pick it up. It was niceness on steroids, a far cry from snarky, sometimes cranky, always opinionated New Yorkers.
The Chautauqua population skews older, (read plenty of gray hair, walkers and scooters), although there are lots of families with kids and dogs everywhere. Many houses are privately owned but others are rentals where visitors return year after year for a dose of concerts, theater, dance, literature and lectures. Chautauqua was started in the late 1800s by Methodist ministers so there’s a healthy dose of God in many forms, largely Christian but Judaism and other spiritual practices are part of the mix.
Each week has a theme; the week I visited it was “The Ethics of Dissent.” Every day brings lots to do, so much so that many times a choice is required. I went to several concerts and a rehearsal by the excellent Chautauqua symphony; saw a wonderful production of Candide; went on a nature walk (learning that naturalist Euell Gibbons built up an
immunity to poison ivy by eating small amounts daily until he could tolerate three large leaves –why bother? ); heard several poets and writers read from their works; visited the fabulous library; fiddled with my watercolors; did a little, mild shopping for sandals; went to a seminar on living wills; trotted around the 750-acre
Institution admiring the gorgeous gardens and took a daily Pilates class. (I could also have kayaked, sailed, played tennis or golf, gone to the art gallery, meditated in a class, baked challah and more.) One of the week’s highlights was NY Times reporter Barri Weiss discussing her take on the “new” seven dirty words, (the original ones were the creation of George Carlin, based on those that couldn’t be said on television.) This is a link to Weiss’ talk which I highly recommend: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHaZOD-KxxA She’s articulate, entertaining and knows how to address a crowd.
old, nicely renovated and cute; my little first floor apartment was perfect for one (two in a pinch—literally) and I ran into other guests who were fun to be with. Olivia, who owns Englewood, is deeply invested in natural, organic foods and practices. One day’s breakfast were the lightest pancakes I ever ate; another morning she produced a sort of tart she says is based on Paleo zucchini bread. This is her recipe but it doesn’t have ingredient amounts because she’s an intuitive ‘dash of this, pinch of that’ kind of cook.
And good luck. I’m not a Paleo person but this was delicious. With it, we were offered tea, coffee and oj. And the daily activity schedule.
The Vendy Award is the Emmy or Oscar equivalent in the NYC food truck world. Thousands of people buy tickets to the taste-off held on Governor’s Island; winners are selected by them and a panel of celebrity judges that includes chefs, comedians and city officials (what comedians, or for that matter, city officials, have to do with judging food beats me.) The award ceremony raises funds for the Street Vendor Project, which stands up for vendors’ rights while providing legal and small-business services. SVP is currently campaigning to get the city to remove the cap on food vending permits that has created huge barriers for vendors since it was put in place, at the urging of big businesses, in 1983.
There are several Vendy categories: in 2018 there will be awards for Best Rookie, Best Market Vendor, Best Dessert Vendor, and the Vendy Cup. There will also be a People’s Choice Award awarded from among the Vendy Cup category.
A friend and I had lunch at the 2017 Vendy Cup winner, DF Nigerian, run by Godshelter Oluwalogbon and his wife Bisola. (DF stands for Divine Flavor). It’s located in front of the Nigerian Consulate on Second Avenue between 44 and 45th streets on weekdays. Advancing to the cart requires a little attention as it’s set just behind a busy bike lane; it wouldn’t do to get killed by a speeding bike en route to your meal. We both had one of the special entrees; for her, chicken, plantains and spicy sauce and for me the same thing with goat in for chicken. (I love goat; during my years at the City Hospital system goat was a frequent offering at Thanksgiving and other celebrations.) Sorry, DF but I won’t be back soon. The goat was so tough as to be almost inedible; the plantains bland and the spicy sauce greasy. Of course I spilled some on my white pants. It’s not exactly cheap either; our meals cost $15 each. But we’ll see what wins in 2018 and give that a whirl.
Since my goat has been gotten, I will turn to a summery dessert that’s been a long standing hit for years. I have no idea where it originally came from but it’s easy (really), delicious and can be made ahead.
In saucepan combine berries (reserving a few for garnish), sugar, lemon zest and Cassis. (Don’t know what to do with leftover Cassis? Try some poured into vodka.) Bring to simmer. Cook until sugar has dissolved (about 4 minutes), stirring occasionally with wooden spoon, lightly crushing berries to release juices. Remove from heat and transfer to chilled bowl (or put in fridge for a bit)
Line 3-cup bowl with plastic wrap, leaving a 2” overlap. Cut circle from one slice of bread to fit bottom of bowl. Remove crusts; cut bread slices in rectangles to line sides of bowl making sure there are no gaps. Press lightly into place.
Spoon berries and juice into bread-lined bowl, cover top with remaining slices cut to fit. Fold plastic wrap over bread and top with small flat plate that fits snugly into bowl. Place a weight on plate, refrigerate overnight.
Unfold plastic wrap from top of pudding and carefully invert bowl onto serving platter. Remove wrapping and garnish pudding with reserved berries.
Serve with crème fraiche, ice cream or whatever you like as a topping. Serve rose wine, Cassis and vodka or lemonade and whistle your favorite song. This assumes you can whistle. Or hum.
V that is. The Mobile Unit of The Public Theater presented this wonderful play at St. Paul’s Chapel in lower Manhattan last week. The venue is lovely but demands a lot from the very engaging actors –it’s theater “in the square” so backs often face the audience requiring great projection; there is no lighting other than that of the Chapel itself, and costumes are minimal but more than adequate such as sashes and crowns.
The production had much effective swash and buckle with a color/gender-blind cast. Carolyn Ketting as Katharine of France was particularly noteworthy and charming in the “we don’t speak the same language” scene, as was Joe Tapper as the French King and Queen and Michael Bradley Cohen as the Dauphin and other parts. Obviously, there was plenty of doubling which was typical of how it worked in Shakespeare’s day. If I had a quibble, it would be with Zenzi Williams who played Henry; that she’s female didn’t matter a bit but that she tended to shriek did. Lines like the St. Crispin’s Day speech and “once more unto the breech” deserve great acting. Mr. Cohen also “choreographed” the fights and did it well conveying the energy and force of opposing armies in a stylized manner that was almost dance-like. Oscar Eustis, the Public’s Artistic Director, sat nearby; I hope he enjoyed the interactions between cast and audience, with kids handing actors ribbons as they walked onstage. I certainly did.
See this link to the Mobile Unit of the Public which takes free Shakespeare to prisons and correctional facilities, shelters and other venues. (I know they’d be thrilled with contributions.)
Joe Papp, one of my heroes, began the Public; founded Shakespeare in the Park; helped preserve many theaters as historic landmarks and produced, among other works, Hair and A Chorus Line. Bravo for a theater guy for the ages.
This is the shaggy-dog provenance of the following recipe. When I couldn’t find a Shakespeare-related one with appeal, I tried to play on “Henry.” Problem is there’s nothing but the candy bar. So….to a restaurant in upper Manhattan called Henry’s where I’ve eaten. Among their offerings is a tuna salad nicoise which I make at home. This version comes via the Food Network.
In a large bowl, add tuna, reserving the olive oil in a separate small bowl. Break tuna into bite-size pieces with a large fork. Add the beans and capers. Into the bowl of olive oil, add the red wine vinegar. You should have 1 part vinegar to 2 parts oil – add more extra-virgin olive oil if necessary. Season with salt and pepper. Pour dressing on the tuna, bean and caper mixture and allow the flavors to infuse while slicing the vegetables. Add the onion and tomatoes to tuna mixture and toss gently.
Place the arugula on large decorative platter and top with tuna mixture. Tear fresh basil leaves over the top and serve.