Category: and Wine Bars of Paris

Au Passage, For Duck, Tongue, and Some Good Wines

To begin a meal.

To begin a meal.

Food memories never fade. Not for me. I can recall almost everything I have eaten, especially since 1994 or so. Seriously. Some plates I remember better than others, and to relive some meals requires a bit of effort, such as the one I had at the house of a friend of a friend. The host was not that good of a cook, and decimated the shrimp. If I want to, I can remember the taste of that poor shrimp. But why would I? I choose to focus on the good.

This was good. One evening in Paris not so long ago I went with a few friends to Au Passage, a small place that I love. It is a simple space, but the food and wines are excellent. We had tongue, we had duck breast, and we drank some great wines. The duck was smoky, and the charred carrots served with it sweet. The tongue, my favorite of the evening: olive oil, some greens, legumes. If I could have anything I wanted for dinner tonight I would choose that tongue.

This speaks to me, with quiet deliciousness.

This speaks to me, with quiet deliciousness.

Duck, done very well.

Duck, done very well.

Au Passage has a great wine list, and we enjoyed it on the that evening. The memories linger.

Vin, a must for every meal.

Vin, a must for every meal.

What I’m Drinking Now (And It Takes Me Back to Paris)

Made in California, but it took me to France. (Brockhaus Photo)

Made in California, but it took me to France. (Brockhaus Photo)

Every now and then I come across a wine that transports me, that at first taste takes me to a place I want to be. It happened a few evenings ago, and I have Vanessa Treviño-Boyd to thank for the brief excursion of the mind and spirit. I was sitting at the bar at 60 Degrees Mastercrafted, where Treviño-Boyd is the beverage director and sommelier, and she brought me a bottle of Lieu Dit, a 2013 Melon. The producer describes it this way:

From old vines planted in the early 70’s, this block grows on sandy soils in an exceptionally breezy part of Santa Maria Valley out at Bien Nacido vineyard. The fruit is pressed, fermented, and aged all in tank to ensure the minerality, freshness, and tension we look for when enjoying this variety.

It was crisp, balanced, and drinking it took me back to a little restaurant in the Fifth Arrondissement, at the top of Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève, the street on which I lived. Several mornings each week a man would bring oysters he harvested to the restaurant, and I would go there and eat them as I stood on the sidewalk. If he was extremely busy, which he often was, I would shuck the oysters from Brittany at a small table outside the door of the restaurant, gathering a dozen or so on a plate before I ventured to begin my breakfast. With the briny wonders I drank, always, a wine that was from the Loire. I thought often of Hemingway, who had many times walked on that same sidewalk. Those mornings were beautiful. It was late fall, winter was coming on, and all was good with the world, at least on that small stretch of land in Paris.

I will be buying the Lieu Dit melon, a Brockhaus-approved wine, by the case, if I can find that much.

Mon Oncle, or, a Wine Bar Opens in Girona

I left Barcelona with wine on my mind and in the trunk of the car. I was headed to Girona, a city Angela and I had visited in 2011 (we had a reservation at El Celler de Can Roca). This time I was going to visit friends who lived there. They were opening a wine bar, and I thought it would be fun to observe their work and give them some help. I had taken a train from San Sebastien down to Barcelona, and, after a few meals and a night at Camp Nou seeing Messi & Co. work their magic, I rented a car and headed toward the ocean. (I did make one stop, for lunch, at Can Fabes, more on which later.) (Update: Here is the story of my afternoon at Can Fabes.)

Girona is a beautiful city, with a small river running through it. It is not far from the French border, and its people are fiercely independent. I had my trusty GPS unit, and had programmed into it the village in which my friend and her husband lived, about 20 minutes outside of Girona. They own an amazingly beautiful bed and breakfast in which I stayed one night during my visit, and I recommend it highly.

They were not home when I arrived, so I called and arranged to meet them in Girnona, near Mon Oncle, the name of the soon-to-open wine bar. It is in a building in a large open square, in the old district; in other words, a perfect location. Plenty of space for outdoor dining, for sitting and enjoying wine with friends.

When I reached the square, after a stroll along the river, Mon Oncle was abuzz with activity; Axel, one of the owners, was helping affix a sign to the building’s exterior, and his sister, Marie, and her husband were inside unloading supplies and going over inventory. I had not seen Axel since 2005, and the last time I saw Marie was in New York in 2002. We greeted and I told them I was available for work. We toasted with beers and I started helping ready chairs and tables for the square. Mon Oncle’s opening night was two days away, and cases of wine and water and beer were stacked inside the restaurant, ready for the open-house crowd that would gather to celebrate.

What occurred two days later was magical, and perfect. Hundreds of people showed up (even a group of drummers), and they drank and dined and danced and, in short, created the perfect atmosphere for the premiere of Girona’s newest wine bar.

A quick taste, or two

Wine … oh lovely wine. What would we do without it? How much less would we enjoy our confit de canard and lamb stew and cheeses if we had no wine at the table. I would (and I know many others who would agree with me wholeheartedly) be unhappy at a meal without wine.

For the past several months I have been tasting a lot of wines, first in Germany, in the Pfalz, then in Spain, in Basque Country, then in Paris, and more recently in Catalunya. Today I am in Provence, and had the pleasure of walking along a path that separated Côtes du Rhône fields from Châteauneuf-du-Pape plots. On both sides of me short, old vines hung heavy with grapes nearly ready for harvest. I visited two producers – Domaine de la Janasse and Alain Jaume & Fils – and sampled some great wines, both Côtes du Rhônes and Châteauneuf-du-Papes.

It is always enjoyable to walk through a cellar, smelling the mustiness and feeling the humidity, knowing that wines are breathing and growing all around you. And I always imagine the meals they are waiting to join and think of the people who will enjoy it all.

Go to Saturne

Angela and I recently tried Saturne, a restaurant that was recommended to me by a French chef working in Abu Dhabi. If you are in Paris, book a table here.

It is near the Bourse, close to a Metro station, on a quiet street, Rue Notre-Dame des Victoires. Open, airy, light wood and white walls. A wall of wine behind sliding glass doors catches the eye, as does the open kitchen. (A word about the wines: an abundance of “natural” selections, and many value-priced bottles. We started our meal with a glass of Crémant de Loire, proceeded to a bottle of Loire white, then finished with glasses of pinot noir.)

A wall of wines

A wall of wines

This is a dégustation menu, and for 60 euros you get seven courses. We began with a soup of tomato, black olive tapenade, and olive oil, upon which floated a paper-thin piece of fried bread. The taste: go out to your garden and pick a ripe tomato, slice it in half, drizzle olive oil on it, and add a few black olives and some garlic. Bite. Then, break a tomato stem and inhale.

Tomato, olive, bread, olive oil

Tomato, olive, bread, olive oil

Next came bonito, ceviche style. Five or six pieces of pink fish, raspberries and basil and onions on top. Tomato water was poured atop this all. There was a light sprinkling of cayenne pepper. The fish was of a perfect texture, not chewy, tasting slightly of the sea. The other ingredients? Well, you know how it is when you put a mix of ingredients in your mouth and smile when all of the flavors combine? That’s what this dish made me do.

Bonita, raspberries, tomato water, onions

Bonito, raspberries, tomato water, onions

Monkfish was the next plate, served with small discs of yellow squash and nasturtiums, all of which immersed in a slightly mustardy sauce flavored with mussel stock. Monkfish, which is one of my favorite types of fish, was slightly grilled, and meaty. The squash was cooked for a very short period of time, so the discs were firm, full of flavor.

Edible flowers and monkfish, plus squash

Edible flowers and monkfish, plus squash

And then came the lobster, a large piece of lobster tail, from the wonderful waters of Brittany. The meat was as it should be served: when done this way you taste the sea, and the meat is firm, not stringy. The coral of the lobster was used in a sauce, and baby radishes, slightly pickled, accompanied. On top of this all was a foam made of lobster stock.

From the waters of Brittany

From the waters of Brittany

We next were greeted by a beautiful plate of pigeon, two pieces: the breast, pink and juicy, with grilled, crisp skin, and the leg and thigh. A grilled wedge of eggplant was the only other thing on the plate, which I would not have missed. Pigeon is at the top of my desirables list, and this was some of the best I have had.

Leg and breast

Leg and breast

We were entering the final stage of the meal, and our desserts – two courses – were light and tart and sweet, and a bit savory, and not too sweet. The first plate consisted of strawberries, sorrel sorbet, and a cream of goat cheese, sprinkled with freeze-dried parsley. I loved it, and it was a perfect ending … except for the second dessert plate: hay-infused cream, blackberries, and a chocolate spread that had a consistency akin to a light cake frosting.

Fitting close: Chocolate, blackberries, cream

Fitting close: Chocolate, blackberries, cream

You can do a lot with strawberries and goat cheese

You can do a lot with strawberries and goat cheese

Light in August

The light. There’s something about the light in Paris that always gets to me, makes my eyes feel good. When I lived here in 2005 I loved the summer evenings, sitting outside with a carafe of wine under a slowly darkening sky. It seemed that it would never grow completely dark, and as my companions and I drank and ate and planned our next meal I silently gave thanks for the city’s geographical location and for the way the sun worshipped the streets and buildings and people.

That very same light makes, to my eye, the food and produce for sale in markets look better, brighter, tastier. The tomatoes are shiny and firm, and don’t look waxy. The flesh of a duck looks as it should, not violently compressed under a layer of cellophane. Radishes, berries, green beans, lettuces … they all benefit from the light in August.

And I benefit, because that light makes me want to cook and eat and wander the streets of this beautiful place. And that’s what I’m doing now.

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

Home from buying groceries, and headed to the kitchen

In the bags above there are two pork chops, some lettuce, radishes, cheeses, wine, beer, Nutella, butter, shallots, eggs and a few other foodstuffs. Angela and I made a simple salad, but a salad whose lettuce had a crisp bite and actual flavor, so unlike most of the lettuces I was forced to eat while living in the desert. The radishes were also crisp, and had a heat that was pleasant and invigorating. I cooked the chops simply, in butter, and made a sauce from the shallots, garlic and some Crémant de Bourgogne “Egrade” brut.

We’ll always have Paris.

Thinking of France and Chickens

I lived in Paris for about seven months in 2005, and I miss that city, and France, especially when I am shopping for food. For most of my time there during that year I lived in the 10th, near the fine old Marché Saint-Quentin. It was built in 1866, and is a lovely covered market with lots of glass and iron. And it is full of great produce and fish and cheese and meat and poultry of all sorts.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris' 10th.

A good place to shop: Le marché Saint-Quentin, in Paris’ 10th.

I shopped there three or four times a week, and most weeks bought a chicken, usually from the same woman, because hers seemed the freshest. Indeed, some of them had been killed the night before I cooked them. I bought them with the feet and heads still on, and appreciated their organic wholeness.

Most of the time I roasted them, which I am confident is the best way to cook a chicken, though fried chicken is a close second. Every now and then, though, I liked to poach a bird in cream, lots of cream. Two quarts, to be exact. Two quarts of fresh light cream, cream that tasted better than any milkshake I have ever had, and I imagined it coming from the most perfect dairy cow in France.

I’ve forgotten where I first saw a recipe for this dish, but it is an age-old technique, and many of you have undoubtedly poached chicken breasts before. One recipe I used recently as a foundation comes from Daniel Young’s “The Bistros, Brasseries, and Wine Bars of Paris.” I brined the bird when I made it this week, eight hours in a water/salt/sugar/black peppercorn solution.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Chicken brining in a plastic bag.

Here’s how you do it:

Rinse the chicken inside and out with cool water and pat dry. Let stand at room temperature for 20 minutes, then season liberally inside and out with salt and pepper. While the chicken is waiting, heat two cups of chicken stock (you can use bouillon cubes) and heat the oven to 325 Fahrenheit. 

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Carrots, onions, and celery, and a chicken

Peel two carrots and cut them in half; do the same to two onions and two turnips. To these, add the white part of one leek. I also like to use two stalks of celery, cut in half. (You can peel the celery if you want.) Put the chicken in a Dutch oven and then pour in the stock and the cream and add the vegetables to the mix. Heat on the stovetop over moderately high heat until just below boil. Put the lid on the mixture and put it in the oven for about two hours.

It's a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what's not to like?

It’s a bird surrounded by cream and vegetables – what’s not to like?

Remove the chicken and vegetables from the Dutch oven and keep warm; pour two to three cups of the cream mixture through a fine sieve into a saucepan and cook over medium heat, whisking the sauce until it thickens, for five minutes or so. 

Arrange the chicken and vegetable on a platter and pour as much of the sauce over them as you wish. I like to get a leg and breast on my plate, and the carrots and onions take on a flavor that will make you want to double the quantity of them next time you make this. (A final note: it is best to use a large chicken here, say, five pounds, but a bird of that size is difficult to find in many places, so if you use a smaller bird, just reduce the amount of cream.)

It really is very simple, and what results is chicken reminiscent of what you get when you make Chicken and Dumplings – moist and rich. And the sauce will have you thinking of milkshakes. I drank a Côtes de Duras blanc with the dish this week.

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