And, at the same time, I suppose that begs the question of what it isn't. It hadn't occurred to me that "home cooking" was that tough a concept to define. But this article in this morning's Wall Street Journal got me thinking. And sent me off on a tangent too. The title "The Art of Almost Homemade" made me wonder, isn't that Sandra Lee's tagline? Which made me do the search thing, where I was reminded she's the "semi-homemade" queen, then I clicked to her web site and my head kind of exploded, but I'm okay now..... So, back to home cooking. It seems to be a squishy concept that's defined by each of us in our own way. Which actually seems appropriate. One of the interesting notes from the article was that based on the writer's interviews and a few companies own research, many folks look for some way to "feel involved" in the ...

This picture is one of my favorites from this month's escapade in Paris. It was taken at one of the top pastry/confection shops in Paris, Jacques Genin, which I was very happy to find to be just a matter of blocks from the apartment I rented in the Marais. And it was taken at a Sunday lunch I enjoyed with my sister. Not dessert after lunch. But FOR lunch. We each got our own from among the few millefeuille options on the menu, her vanilla, me praline. I love this image because it represents such a delightfully decadent moment, the beginning of one among many memorable afternoons we shared in Paris before she headed home. But after the last crumb was plucked up from the plate, the culinary pro in me felt a lingering impression made by the pastry as well. I realized that ...

I went a little nuts at the market today. It's Sunday, a prime market day in many neighborhoods around Paris. The closest/best to where I'm staying in the Marais is the Bastille market that spreads north of Place de la Bastille on the Boulevard Richard-Lenoir. I went to the market last Sunday too (it's on Thursdays as well, I'll hit it one more time this coming week), but that was a more casual walk-through. I picked up some radishes, strawberries, some arugula. This week I bought decidedly more. For a couple reasons. One thing, it's Sunday and always slimmer pickings in the restaurant options, a good evening to stay in. And tomorrow's a holiday, so with two consecutive days of limited shopping/dining options, figured I should stock up.  (I should say another holiday, the fourth French national holiday this month--which I remembered was great that ...

My first three trips to France came over the course of about five years and the length of each trip increased about five-fold from one to the next. First, one month with about 20 students for a Winterim term in Paris. Next, just six of us from the same university returned for the inaugural year of our school’s study-abroad program, a semester at the Université de Dijon. Then came my cooking school adventure, which I thought would be 9 months but became nearly 2 1/2 years, as a successions of work opportunities cropped up after graduation that bridged beautifully to extend my time. There was never a “heck, forget it, I’m never going home!” I always knew I’d go back to Seattle, but for the first couple of years I just wasn’t ready. I had more to do/see/learn/experience. I didn’t want to return feeling the adventure had been ...

As I mentioned in the prologue post about this Paris trip, one of the earlier decisions I made was to get out of my own Paris ruts by NOT staying in the St. Germain/Latin Quarter section on the Left Bank. I'm thrilled to my toes with that choice. Not that there aren't crowds here in the Marais neighborhood, but they're much, much smaller (in large part because there's simply not room for hordes really). And I have yet to see a swarm following someone with a red bandana tied to the end of a stick. Within the first few days as we were getting to know the neighborhood (and slowly getting over jetlag), we walked around the area in increasingly broader radiuses around the apartment. On day three, when we got far as Notre Dame and the quotient of crowds ...

It’s Mother’s Day today, at least back in the United States (the French will celebrate la Fête des Mères in two weeks). So what I did I do to honor the day in Paris? I took a walk through Père Lachaise cemetery. Not out of some grim impulse to acknowledge the eleventh Mother’s Day since my mom passed away. But because it felt like the right kind of soulful environment in which to spend some time, to get away from hustle-bustle in the city. And because it’s a place in Paris where we had a most memorable visit the year she came to see me. I have, in fact, taken most friends and family there who’ve been in France with me. But that visit to the cemetery with Mom was special not only because I was sharing it with her, but ...

I've been in Paris nearly two weeks now and so far only indulged in oysters once. It was at a tiny, bright, delightful little spot in the Latin Quarter that I'd read about in research, Huitrerie Régis. Got there just after doors opened at 6:30 on Saturday evening and scored the best among just about 7 two-tops. Never been to a place with as limited a menu (not counting a hot dog cart), it's ALL about the oysters, plus shrimp and/or sea urchin when available (only the former, when we were there). A plate of sliced saucisson sec, cheese (one option: goat) and dessert (one option: apple tart). That's it. And wine. We got one dozen of the fines de claires and one dozen shrimp. A pitcher of Sancerre. Perfect. Simple. As it should be. But I'll be slurping at least a couple more oysters in the next couple of weeks, I'm ...

It's not me making that decision -- it was a panel of illustrious judges who convened last month to sample over 150 entries for this year's Grand Prix de la Baguette de Tradition Française de la Ville de Paris. It was just delightful timing that the news of this year's winner came shortly before I left, so the winner was quickly noted on my to-do list for time in Paris. And it's where the day began today: 156 rue Raymond Losserand in the 14th arrondissement, Au Paradis du Gourmand. Honestly a pretty average looking bakery, you wouldn't walk by and say "wow, this place must be special!" But it is. Way the heck across Paris, we took a long metro ride to get there and hunted down the address. Got in line, bought "une baguette" and we were out on the sidewalk nibbling at it, sniffing ...

My first inclination when I started to plan this long-awaited, extended time in Paris was to narrow my apartment-searching to my old stomping grounds. The Left Bank. The 5th, 6th and 7th arrondissements. As noted in this earlier post, it's where I've spent by far the most of my time in Paris. That first study program in 1984, we spent most of a month in a hotel on the rue des Ecoles in the heart of the Latin Quarter. Which ended up being my home base the following year when studying in Dijon, for those many weekends I hightailed it up to Paris after classes ended Friday. Four years later I returned again to the Left Bank to go to La Varenne cooking school, located in the swankier 7th arrondissement, near the Senate and other goverment buildings, and the glorious Les Invalides esplanade. In the couple decades since, passing through Paris as ...

It's been the case at every party in recent memory that I've been at when deviled eggs are on hand. They're simply a magnet. There may be tons of other great food on hand, but folks spring into action around those eggs...and the plate's usually the first one to be emptied. I'll admit to having a bit of an eagle-eye for them. When someone new arrives at the door and I see the plastic-wrap-topped platter of deviled eggs, I go into cool but focused mode. Walk up to the person, say hi, how nice to see you....and nonchalantly follow them to the table where the platter goes down, the plastic comes off and it's all "oh look, you brought deviled eggs! gee, well, as long as I'm here....." I tend to be a big fan of old-school treatment with deviled eggs--mustard, mayo, salt, pepper, not ...