u m a m i

Marmite, lots and lots of it!

                        

The day before the trip I met up with Sui Mai. We had a short but profound conversation about something we both like.

Me: Do you want anything from London?

Sui Mai: Erm....

Me: I am getting some Marmite. Do you like Marmite?

Sui Mai: I lurve Marmite...

followed by a brief but intense mutual adoration of said black goo

Me: Do you know there is also Guiness Marmite (GM)?

Sui Mai: OMG you've heard about it too? Last time I went to UK I looked and looked but couldn't find any. It's only produced in limited edition. Oh, if it is not too much trouble, could you get me two jars of GM, please, please, pretty please?

(or something like that, since it was a conversation that happened more than a week ago and my memory is not as sound as it was)

People either love or hate Marmite. I belong firmly in the LOVE camp.

In Asia, a little dollop of it in rice porridge will tempt the appetites of even the most difficult child, and then, well, it inevitably develops into a lifetime habit as I, Jess and many others can attest to. In recent years it's even found its way into restaurants, witness the inclusion of Marmite Crab in any self-respecting Malaysian seafood joint. Closer to home, I have a weird Marmite habit: if I feel peckish at night yet do not want to eat anything calorific, I'll make instead a cup which is then sprinkled with a few drops of Tabasco- the spicy sodium overload tricks the mind into believing it's eaten and the appetite gets satiated.

Now then, the first thing I did after checking into the hotel was to look for Marmite. In a nearby Tesco Express I found Marmite biscuits but no jarred Marmites. And was distracted by a display case of Krispy Kreme (folks, don't worry, I also later ate the hot-off-the-belt-version from the Harrods foodhall outlet, and it was better. Not mindblowingly good, but at least I came closer to understanding why people are crazy about them) Of course I also had to get my fix of low-brow magazines and crossword puzzles, doesn't every one do that in England?

At the next supermarket, a proper one this time- you know, the typical Brit supermarket where one can happily spend hours in, what with the twin attack of gorgeous flowers arrayed out front and smells of fresh bread baking drifting from the baked goods section deep within, rows and rows of appetising looking food in the belly of the store, and the finale, so says my mind so conditioned to appalling French service, the best part was at the checkout counter, where sat a friendly  cashier who actually works the registers and pack groceries simultaneously- I found what I was looking for. A bit of an anticlimax in fact, since I was poised for a dramatic traverse across the grocery landscape of inner London, but I got over my disappointment almost immediately. Which was followed by an agonising moment of many indecisions- how many of each should I get, how many can I actually carry, what if I don't like GM, etc etc.

In the end I bought a jar of 'classic', 4 of the GMs and one of the squeezable type; the last contained less Marmite but cost almost twice as much as ordinary ones but I thought my little V would find it fun.

Back home in Paris, we made a pot of chicken congee and had our first taste of Marmite in ages. The GM was fabulous, like the classic, but with deeper, more intense, more concentrated (if that is possible in such a tarry goo) flavours. Husband immediately pronounced them excellent, and I had to relay his request to fourth sister in London to buy a half-dozen more.

The Marmite cheese crackers were fine, the Marmite flavour not too prominent so one can still discern the taste of baked cheese bits encrusted on one side. We haven't got round to sampling the biscuits but I don't think it'll be that bad. As for V, she didn't like her first taste of Marmite. Not even if it came out of a jar in cute squiggles. Never mind, she is still little, she'll come around eventually....

Marmalade French Toast

                        

Tomorrow we are going to London; husband has work to do and I have a lot of eating to accomplish too. In the meantime, here is a recipe for Marmalade French Toast. It is an ordinary dish, but hard to get right, I know because I've been making this for years and have been disappointed by my own results. The secret, according to me that is, is to use really good bread, white is nicer than the healthful cereal versions but that's just my preference. We also discovered that frying it first then finishing it in the oven makes a crispy crusted toast with soft, bready-eggy insides. The marmalade and orange liqueur adds a fresh yet sophisticated touch.

                        

First, cut bread into 1-1.5 cm thick slices. Bread from a loaf bought at the bakers is best, pre-sliced bread just become mush.

Then in a shallow pan mix lightly large eggs (organic is better), vanilla seeds scraped from the pod, sugar, marmalade and a healthy glug of Cointreau or Grand Marnier. Quantity is not stated because I usually eyeball the mix and add until I think there is enough to soak the bread. I also like to taste the egg mix to make sure it has enough orange flavours and sweetness, yes I know the egg is raw but sometimes we have to live dangerously. If the mixture is a bit thick I'll add a drop or two of milk.

Add the bread to the egg, and allow about 30 minutes for the bread to absorb the mixture. Turn the slices from time to time. The idea is to get as much of the egg into the bread as possible.

To cook: pan fry in a mix of oil and butter until the exterior is brown. Then lay on a greased baking tray and finish in a 180 C oven for about 5 minutes.

                      

Serve warm, dusting with icing sugar to make it pretty if desired. Good on its own or with sausages and bacon to make a hearty dish. We had ours with espresso, juice and fruits, simple but tasty foods for a weekend brunch.

The Shopping Bag edition

                        

Let's see, what have we been up to?

1. Made falafels. The NYT's Mark Bittman (The Minimalist) showed how to in a video. We followed the method but winged the quantities of ingredients. Ours turned out green, fresh-tasting and moist, the green was from loads of parsley. They were also too garlicky, next time we'll halve the quantities. I like my falafel in sandwiches, and assembling it was equally easy- add salad, tahini, yoghurt and melty roasted aubergines.

2. Got bored with eating strawberries. Now it's plums and apples. Still waiting for rhubarb. And I am in a major pamplemousse phase, right now there's three varieties in the fruit basket. We are eating ever so healthily these days. Hardly any pastries, cakes, pates and only a bit of cheese. The fruits and vegetable baskets in the pantry is piled high with beautiful produce which gets depleted quickly, it all tastes delicious see, even the boring old cucumbers and beans. This is the benefit of living in a country that grows its own food.

3. Erm, the other day we made honey and yoghurt muffins but did not have any baking soda. So I doubled the quantity of baking powder and folded in some whipped egg whites in the vain hope of giving the cakes some 'lift'. The muffins emerged scone-like with weird bubbles. But strangely enough, the kid and dogs loved them.

blah blah blah, so boring. Let's talk about something else. Such as.....shopping baskets and bags!

In France, and most of Europe I would imagine, when you buy things at the bakeries, markets, etc, they don't always give you a bag or plastic carrier. Breads are wrapped in paper, fruits in dinky paper pockets, and well, if you are not prepared, it can get very unwieldy. People bring their own baskets or 'chariots' -tall,  waterproof-cloth covered trolleys with wheels- to do their shopping.

                      

This is our chariot. It is actually a made-in-Japan dog stroller, complete with breathable panels and many flaps and buttons to suit the weather. It is expensive but worth it, and it isn't available here. The dogs take turns to sit inside but most of the time we use it when we go to the market. It has 4 wheels and can take up to 12kg comfortably, is not too wide as to be inconvenient for other shoppers, and quite smart looking, as the admiring glances and comments from the locals can verify. Very useful for the heavy stuff like meats and potatoes. And even more useful when it rains, the shopping stay drier than us humans.

                        

On our coat rack there is also a selection of marketing bags. The green one was bought at BHV for about 4 euros, the Pocky bag was from Sungei Wang in KL and the pink striped bag was a mistake 'fashion' buy from 5 years ago. These are good for carrying breads and delicate vegetables.

                        

And because I always end up buying something after school or between other errands, I keep a foldaway bag inside my handbag. This is a nifty example from BHV, about 4 5 euros (the price went up since I last visited, blimey!). It comes with a little bag with snap buttons as well as a clip to attach to say, an appendage or ring clasp from the main handbag. My fourth sister bought a yellow one when she was here, her friend liked it so much she gave it away. I have to go get her a replacement unit soon.

                      

The bag inside, unfurled. It is big enough for baguettes and supplies for a quick dinner. There are similar examples of this bag sold in household stores like neighbourhood 'drogeries' and Muji.

Salon de The Wenzhou

                        

Last Saturday we swooped by Belleville to pick up some groceries. While waiting for me to pay up at the cashiers, husband stood at the entrance and noticed a strange scene. People were walking out of the cafe next door cradling huge meat buns in their hands, including many women with kids in strollers. We had to check it out.

                      

Just in time to see a new batch set upon a counter. There were some sesame-crusted deep fried mochi as well. Perfect tea time snacks. We bought a couple of each.

                     

The buns had startlingly white fluffy bread surrounding a ping-pong ball of savory minced pork, both of which are tasty but not something I would go all the way to the 19th arrondisement for. The crisp fried crusty bottom though, was exceptional, I think they fried it in rendered pork fat.

Not pictured, but the "jin-dui" was brilliant: crispy, nutty crust gives way to sticky rice dumpling bursting with sweet red bean lava. Hot, fresh and delicious. Excellent!

Bunny to you, Dinner to me

Since it was a sunny day, we took Mimi and V to Parc Monceau. There we saw a white, grey rabbit, fat and fluffy; it was also wearing a harness which was attached to a leash. Much like how we leash our dogs. So I said to our Mimi, "Look, your dinner!"

Haha, anyway, Happy Easter!

Ziti, Publicis & PDG

                      

What do these places have in common? Besides being located around Champs Elysee I mean and sounding like something one finds in a lifestyle publication. Let me explain.

Before we had the car, eating out with a child meant only one thing- the venue has to be within walking distance. Because the public transport here is ill-equipped to handle her stroller. We don't own one of those gigantic 'travel systems' like Stoke or Bugaboo, but the wheels of her Quinny Zapp are too wide apart to make it through the metro turnstiles as well as some escalators; and as any parent will tell you, escalators in themselves are a rarity in metro stations, most of the time we have to carry her in her stroller like imperial slaves. Just the thought of all that carrying and worrying is enough to make us think twice about taking her out.

Unfortunately our neighbourhood is not exactly a gastronomic haven, not to us anyway. Someone told us we live in The Golden Triangle, where all the 'best restaurants' in Paris is located. By that they mean most of the high-end starred establishment, which is beyond our eating-out budget. But we are slowly finding our way, and have come across a few gems, like the casual Japanese eatery Umami-an.

Cafe Ziti along rue Pierre Charron is another, on the outside it looks like any trendy Italian restaurant, but we like their warm service (read, high tolerance for tomato-sauced howling infant), pastas and what we think is the best fried calamari in town, all light yet toothsome and tasting of the deep sea; they also did not blink when we ask them to doggy-back the uneaten half of our pizza.

The drugstore that never seem to sleep, i.e. Publicis Drugstore, is a combined restaurant, deli, retail and cinema concept mall at the corner of Ave Marceau and Ave Champs Elysee was another unlikely discovery for a family-friendly brunch. They serve very good fresh butter, yummy breads, pastries and a small selection of cooked dishes like pancakes, bacon and scrambled eggs, not too decadent that it will knock one out for the afternoon but pleasant enough to while a sunny Sunday afternoon away.

Further afield, at 20 rue de Ponthieu off Ave Champs Elysee, we were happy with the hamburgers at PDG. It was a star recommendation in the Time Out guide (page 124, The Americas) and the description was in line with our experience, i.e. excellent burger albeit at much higher price than a fast food joint. The burgers were outstandingly good- thick, beefy, succulent, expertly cooked- and served with fluffy toasted buns that actually chews like bread and not cotton wool. Their coleslaw taste a bit weird though.

                      

But what we really liked was their fries. Irregularly and thickly cut like English 'chips' instead of shoestrings which translates to lower surface area and therefore less fat absorbed and lower crisp factor but conversely more potatoey taste which is a good compromise I think. Served with a bottle of Heinz ketchup, an exotic condiment in these parts and which is after all, rather grand with fries. After we finished our burgers, we looked at the dessert menu but their selection did not appeal, so we opted to have another round of fries for dessert.

Guaranteed to make the most restless child happy, if only for a couple of hours or so.

M & M's

                        

Yesterday I bought a crepe-with-banana from one of the crepe-stands at the corner of rue Odessa and rue Montparnasse. Just banana? Or banana and Nutella? the lady behind the window asked. Just banana, thanks. She made the crepe from scratch, and when the pancake turned pale gold, she sliced a ripe banana and scattered it on one half. Then she grabbed the jar of Nutella and made to open it. No, no Nutella, I reminded her. Sorry, she said, I am so used to it, everybody orders banana with Nutella. I said, non, I don't like chocolate very much. Oh really, she said, her tone astonished, that is just bizarre.

It isn't just her, other people have said it too. I don't detest chocolate, but I don't go mad for it. I just don't crave it or have longings for it like some people I know. I've even passed this bizarreness to husband, so sometimes, months can go by without there being any chocolate at home. And since we are on this subject, I would add too that I don't like cheesecakes much, nor angel food cake- the former for being too rich, the latter for being too airy and pointlessly sweet. But I like meringues and pavlovas in moderation, and chestnuts, well, I love very much, in my opinion there isn't such a thing as a too-sweet marron, even the glaced ones. I also abhor anything with cinnamon in it, so that rules out most American- influenced apple confections, donuts and fruit cakes. Come to think of it, perhaps I really am a bit strange.

But there may well be a cure for my affliction. See, there's a Maison du Chocolat near our apartment. Everytime I walk by it I see that it is full of customers, groups of tourists even have their pictures taken in front of the store. I've gone inside too but did not feel the magic. Until one day when it was raining, and I ducked inside for some warmth. My eyes were attracted to their beautiful eclairs, in particular their caramel eclairs with a single glaze of caramel piped smartly along its length, reposing elegantly along one window. Alongside, a trio of chocolate cakes, all covered in a brilliantly smooth chocolate mirror. I brought home a piece of cake and a caramel eclair. The eclair was fabulous, it was piped full of caramel cream, sweet with a burnished edge like the taste of broken shards of burnt sugar. But the cake, well, it was equally riveting, so much going on in one confection- the mousse, the glaze, the boozy raisins-. it was practically a chocolate assault weapon. We marveled at the richness, the sophisticated finish and the absolute deliciousness of really good chocolate. It wasn't quite an epiphany, but I could sense the curse lifting.

                        

Looking at my archives, I surprised myself with how few sweets we ate at home last month. No baklavas, no macarons, no pretty pastries. We ate a lot of gariguette strawberries in the second half of March but in terms of baked goods, all I could dig up was these pictures taken on a Sunday stroll along Marais. Being in the Jewish quarter, the shops are open on Sundays, and Boulangerie Malineau stood out for their offbeat offerings. Robyn had blogged about their psychedelic marshmallows. My fourth sister, when she was in Paris last weekend, loved their fruity cookies baked in cute mouse shapes. Malineau seem to do biscuits, biscottis, scones and rustic, unadorned back-to-basics items really well. The range available on Sundays seem to be more comprehensive than weekdays though. 

The cake above, they labelled as a congolaise. It looked so cute and homely, and the name was so exotic, so even though we didn't know what it was, I had to try it.

                      

Congolais is, as it turned out, a type of coconut cake. Buttery coconut cake. I broke it in half and discovered that the crisp nutty crust gave way to golden interior packed with sweet shredded coconuts and moist buttery cake crumb. It was like eating a Bounty advertisement, only of course way better and elementally satisfying. After that, I saw other boulangeries' versions of congolais, and had not been tempted by any of them because in comparison, theirs look so pallid and unappetising.

                      

The second thing that we liked is a seemingly ordinary cake, baked in big pound loafs and sold by the weighted slices. I've never seen cake tinted in these shades before, in pale pastels, so much more subtle than the usual food colorings, and it was like this too in the eating. We could taste butter, and fruit flavours in the pleasingly open-pored textured cake, quite novel for us.

Typing this in the middle of the night with the long weekend ahead, I think to myself, a repeat visit to Malineau is in order.

Roast a Crispy Duck

                        

We are in a duck phase right now. Especially roast duck. French ducks are, I must say, rather tasty, very meaty with a pleasing amount of gameyness. It is also quite fatty, which is good, because during roasting the fats protect the meat from burning and imbues the meat with incredible flavours.

Third Sister gave me a recipe about three years ago for a fail-safe roasting method that results in a good looking bird with very crispy skin and succulent meat. It doesn't need to be foil-wrapped, tented, cooked for 4 hours, stuffed with lemons, require the insertion of a meat thermometer, be wrapped in string or any of the many different fiddly steps that cookbooks advises. The only important note is that the skin of the duck must be completely dry before cooking. Pat with paper towels thoroughly and then let it dry some more until all surface moisture has evaporated. I have in the past blown it with the hairdryer set to the 'cool' function but in temperate climates it is okay to leave the bird out for a couple of hours to achieve this effect.

Instead of gravy, we usually make a thick brown sauce from the drippings, a style closer to Cantonese than traditional western, and which goes better with steamed rice that we habitually eat at dinner. But lately we've been inspired- by the rotisserie potatoes that are sold by butcher shops here- to roasting potatoes directly under the roasting bird, without parboiling beforehand, to great success. 

Roasting the duck.

1. Ask the butcher to remove the head and feet, and to pack the giblets separately. The giblets can be used for making gravy but usually I give them to my dogs as treats.

2. Rinse the duck and remove all the bloody bits between the spine bones, pluck out stubbon feathers and trim redundant fatty bits. Dry the duck as suggested above. Prick the skin all over with the tip of a sharp knife.  Season with pepper if you like. Rub coarse sea salt over skin. More salt means more crunch.

3. Lay the bird breast down on a roasting rack. The roasting tin should have a very thin ~ 5mm layer of water in it. The water catches the fats that drips down which may sizzle and splatter (and makes cleanup easier afterwards). Roast at 230 C, about 1 hour 50 minutes for a 1.8 kg duck. Centre shelf. Potatoes can be roasted  at about the same time, see instructions below.

4. Ten minutes before the end of roasting time, take the duck out and apply a glaze of marmalade or jam before returning to the oven to finish.

5. When done, take duck out, let it rest. There will be a ghastly amount of duck fat in the pan, pour most of it away but gently, the stuff at the bottom is for making sauce or gravy.  Scrape the browned bits up, add 1 cup of water or orange juice to deglaze and reduce till it becomes a thick brown sauce. All these can be done in the roasting rack, on top of the stove. To make gravy, add shallots and carrots as well as additional cup of water or stock.

                      

Roasting the potatoes

1. Ask the grocer for roasting potatoes. Peel and cut into medium sized chunks. Pat dry.

2. When the duck's been roasting about 1 hour and there is a bubbling volcano of fats in the tin, take the whole contraption out. Place the duck and roasting rack aside. Put potatoes in and quickly stir to coat. Put the duck and rack back on top of the potatoes and continue the roasting process. The potatoes will be done by the time the duck's finished roasting. In case you are not sure, by all means try a few pieces for yourself.

Spring Strawberry Madness

                        

March and its crazy volatile weather is behind us. The sun's blazing outside, and almost everyday I am buying strawberries. French spring strawberries, with a funny name of gariguette. My daughter is in love with them, and so are we. They are more expensive than the bigger and redder Spanish varieties, about 1.50 to 3.00 euros per little plastic box, depending on supply and demand, their premium price justified by a sweet perfume and just tastes more strawberry-like to me. Lovely on its own and even better macerated for a bit with a little balsamic vinegar.

We are now more mobile now that husband's collected his car. We can now buy groceries at Carrefour which has almost-free parking (first 2 hours) and very good prices for essentials like oil, diapers and toiletries. Today we drove to the 13th arrondissement and went a little crazy piling the trolley with soya milk, bags of jasmine rice,  China cabbages, lemongrass, chillies, plum wine and lots of dried goods. Speaking of dried goods, yesterday, husband's colleagues met with us to deliver a pack of Lim Chee Guan dried sausages.

So, the kitchen is well stocked and the weather is good. Spring is a nice time to be here. Maybe next week the price of strawberries will go down further, I hope so, we haven't had enough of them yet.