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 the dessert so easily expressed one of the simplest yet most valuable lessons I learned while at La Varenne a couple decades ago. Basically, there’s little flavor in “golden brown.” Rather than a pale, soft straw-color at which many might be tempted to pull these sheets of puff pastry from the oven, pastry chefs here go that extra stretch of time until the pastry is notably and evenly browned. As it should be.

Though how many times have we heard that word — golden — bandied about in recipes and product descriptions as if it were the pinnacle of culinary perfection? It’s almost an involuntary, rote description for “done” when baking. It pains me to admit that while writing this post I happened upon one of my own recipes from a decade ago, a soufflé that I describe in the introduction as being an impressive presentation “all puffed and golden” [cringe]. Though thankfully in the recipe itself I specify to cook the soufflé until it’s “nicely browned.”

So, I fell for it too, that outdated idea that golden is universally the baking benchmark. In fact, it’s brown that often holds the gold ticket where flavor’s concerned.  And not just baking, it’s true for caramel as well. If you cook the sugar mixture to the aforementioned golden brown before adding the cream or juice or whatever’s going to halt the cooking, you’ll have a nice, sweet, subtle caramel flavor. But if you take it beyond to mahogany-chestnut in color–to a nerve-wracking point when light wisps of smoke just begin to drift from the surface, then you’ll have a caramel that had deep, complex, nutty-malty flavor.

I really didn’t mean to go all deep and philosophical and analytical about this insanely delicious and decadent pastry. Thankfully I just enjoyed it at that moment. But after the fact, while the butter and hazelnut-praline and cream and other decadent flavors still lingered, I began thinking beyond the plate to the memories of culinary lessons past that were being fed at the same time.

A friend a week or two ago via Facebook asked if I was going to be doing any cooking during this month in Paris. That really wasn’t part of the plan. It’s a lovely but small apartment with a tiny kitchen, two burners and a “combo” microwave oven (though it really seems just microwave to me). Not suited to lots of cooking. I love to cook, don’t get me wrong. I’ve been taking advantage of the kitchen for simple meals/snacks, primarily morning yogurt with fruit, afternoon/evening salads, cheeses, etc.

But nothing beyond that. Until today, I hadn’t turned on those burners. And I guess three weeks away from the stove was my max. Granted, I’m not doing any seared duck breasts with port reduction or anything. But I did soft-boil a couple glorious eggs from the morning market, with some bread and a nub of butter…oh, it was so very good for a post-market breakfast!

My purchases today were a little hap-hazard, on whim. Buying strawberries, I also glanced at the bin of small potatoes that caught my attention. They were the La Ratte variety, a wonderful nutty, dense little potato that’s just delicious. And I seem to be addicted to radishes, more of them too. And LOVE Belgian endive, two heads please. Had yet to bite into a morsel of pâté, got some with green peppercorns, and while I was at it a slice of jambon persillé (ham layered with aspic that has lots of parsley). No question I’d get some cheese, brie de Meaux, a lovely rich cantal, some chevrot goat cheese. And bread, can’t forget the bread, to change things up got some whole-grain baguette and an olive fougasse to nibble on at aperitif hour. What else…herbs, carrots, some fresh garlic, young onions. My mini-fridge looks pretty bountiful right now.

Guess it felt good to be cooking again, even at this minor degree. After the eggs were done, I refilled the pot with cold water, added those potatoes and set them simmering. The end result is this simple, fresh, delicious potato salad inspired by my market-day haul. After it rests another hour or two, it’ll be delicious for a late lunch accompanied by that pâté, a bit of cheese, some carrots. Oh, and what the hell, maybe a glass of the Côtes d’Auxerre wine sitting on the counter. It is Sunday, after all.

Market Day Potato Salad

** Please note that because this was an at-whim recipe created in a tiny kitchen I’ve never cooked in before and without my typical equipment, the times and quantities are my best-guess to retrace my steps. But the nice thing is, you can’t go too far wrong with a recipe such as this. As always, feel free to modify as so inspired.

1 1/2 pounds fingerling potatoes, rinsed
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
2 1/2 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1/3 cup olive oil
Salt and freshly ground (I wish, not in this kitchen….) black pepper
1/3 cup thinly sliced spring or green onions (or regular yellow onions in a pinch)
1 tablespoon (or less to taste) chopped garlic
3/4 cup thickly sliced radishes
2 tablespoons chopped chervil or flat-leaf parsley
2 tablespoons chopped chives

Put the potatoes in a pan of cold water and set on high heat to bring the water to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer until the potatoes are just tender when pierced with the tip of a knife, about 15 minutes.

While the potatoes are simmering, combine the mustard and vinegar in a medium bowl and stir with a fork to blend. Add the olive oil with a good pinch each of salt and pepper. Stir vigorously until well blended. Add the onion and garlic and stir to mix.

When the potatoes are done, drain them and set aside until cool enough to handle. Cut the still-warm potatoes into halves or thirds and add them to the bowl, tossing gently but thoroughly so the potatoes are evenly covered with the dressing. Add the radishes, chervil and chives and stir again to mix. Set aside on the counter for 1 to 2 hours to allow the flavors to meld, stirring occasionally. Or cover and refrigerate for up to 4 hours. (If you’d like the make the salad farther in advance, up to 8 hours, I’d recommend adding the radishes and herbs shortly before serving.)

Makes about 4 servings

Dad and I that trip, at a favorite watering hole near the Chateau (more for the drinks, but there is a trout farm alongside…)

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 incomplete.

At the same time, I didn’t want to go home for a visit. I was in the midst of a really transformative era, completely engrossed in the world of food, the culture of France, meeting fascinating people and learning new skills. I was feeling my life’s path and direction forming under my feet each day. I didn’t want to break that spell and dampen the magic by hitting the pause button. To do what? Head back to familiar territory for a plate of nachos and brunch with friends and then fly back to pick up where I left off? That just didn’t seem right. 

Since I was gone so long, some folks made the trip to see me, which was great. I’ve talked a bit about my mom’s visit one fall. My then-boyfriend-now-husband came to France to see me, which itself was a big tribute to our relationship, he was not a traveler back then. And my dad come once as well. I don’t think Dad and I had had a trip together, just the two of us, since Disneyland in 1980. I just loved my dad to bits, I was a classic “daddy’s little girl” and really enjoyed time spent with him. A good-natured, friendly, warm, loving man, it was a great joy to share my France with him (which is true of sharing it with anyone close to me).

One thing my dad loved at the time was a white rum and tonic cocktail now and then. It’s a pretty basic thing, right? Any bar or restaurant with basic provisions back home can whip one up on demand. Today in Paris there is contemporary cocktail culture brewing, places like Prescription Cocktail Club and Candelaria and Bar Coq. But back then it wasn’t the case. (I recall the first Gulf War was underway when Dad came over, so was probably early 1990). A “cocktail” in a restaurant then might have been an aperitif type thing: a kir royale, Dubonnet on the rocks, possibly some Scotch poured into a glass.

We did a lot of fun things together, played golf, visited with friends, he got to see my super tiny apartment in the Montmartre neighborhood, got propositioned by a “lady” in the Pigalle area (en route back to his hotel near my apartment). All in all a memorable trip and a phenomenal memory that helps me keep my dad close in the years since he passed. But that darn cocktail was elusive. It wasn’t until our return trip to Paris, after traveling around Burgundy, that we threw in the towel and headed to either the Ritz or the George V where we were assured of the kind of cocktail selection that would make granting his wish easy. It was an adventure, a splurge, a fun indulgence and it made him happy. Loved it.

Being back here now? This extended time in Paris is helping me not only reconnect personally with the city, but retracing steps I’ve shared with others, it also helps me rekindle and appreciate moments shared with those I love.

Who knows. Maybe I’ll find myself back at the George V before the end of this trip (the Ritz is closed for a major ginormous renovation). I’ll put on the one dress I packed, slip on those strappy low heels, hit the bar, order a martini (I really don’t care for rum) and toast my father. And my mother. And the lifetime of outstanding memories and experiences that are housed here in Paris.

Even if you are staying smack in the middle of Paris, it’s not that hard to break away and explore some of the lesser-trod parts of the city and have some experiences that those waiting in line to get to the top of the Eiffel Tower would never have.

It can start simply with walking around. Paris is a phenomenal walking city, my sister and I logged probably 50 miles (no kidding) in the dozen or so days we tackled the city together. Look up and around you, at the buildings, glance down passageways to see lovely courtyards, be alert to cool gardens you might not notice if you were zipping by too quickly or underground on the Metro. Keep an eye out for historic markers on the sides of buildings or posted at gates to public spaces. I enjoy this city (any city, really) when I get a sense of context and history and cultural perspective by just picking up information and impressions along the way each day.

But here’s a really great and simple tool to use for some added resource to help bring something unexpected and different to your time in Paris: Pariscope. It’s a handy entertainment guide that comes out every Wednesday and is packed with information covering museums, theater, movies, art exhibits, music, kids activities, special events/fairs/expositions, you name it. They even have a small section on restaurants, but don’t pay attention to that. For less than a dollar, it’s a great investment available at those green newsstand-kiosks on Paris streets and at Tabacs.

Yes, yes, it’s all in French. And you don’t speak/read French you say? Neither does my husband or my sister. And on the respective recent times they’ve been in Paris with me, I’ve handed them Pariscope just for fun, just to flip through. And without even asking them to do so, each found something distinctive that they were interested in. I think, actually, the fact that they don’t know French makes it a bit easier to filter out all those fussy words they don’t understand and home in on what they do know. Like, for my husband, computer games. Which led us to a very cool exhibit about the history of computer games at the Musée des Arts et Metiers a couple of years ago (which has a huge and fascinating permanent collection, and a Foucault’s Pendulum, worth a visit any day).

On that same trip, I noticed a reference to Henri Cartier-Bresson, the legendary French photojournalist who has captured some of the most famous and compelling images of the past century. I had no idea there was a Henri-Cartier-Bresson Foundation until seeing an item in Pariscope, we visited the small museum space and saw an exhibit of an American photographer from mid-20th century shooting Chicago and New York (sorry to be forgetting his name right now). This past week, wandering around Montparnasse I was able to retrace steps to that space but it was closed until later this week.

In the case of my sister, it was Tibetan sacred art (even in French, l’art sacré de Tibet, she got it!). Which led us to discovering the home of the Fondation Pierre Bergé-Yves Saint Laurent not far from the Arc de Triomphe. It’s so off the beaten path it was an adventure to find, but once there it was a really amazing display of beautiful, historic pieces. Quiet, calming, inspiring. The Foundation supports and displays exhibits that cover a great range of artistic interests, from Japanese kabuki theater costumes to super-contemporary iPhone/iPad art.

It does still take a bit of interpretation to make the most of those blurbs in Pariscope, some info is easy enough to figure out but here’s a quick list of vocab and abbreviations you’ll likely see there:

♦ 9^e (or any from 1 to 20 with that little “e”) = in which of Paris’ 20 arrondissements the location is found
♦ Days of the week abbreviations: Dim (Sunday), Lun (Monday), Mar (Tuesday), Mer (Wednesday), Jeu (Thursday), Ven (Friday) and Sam (Saturday)
♦ M° = which metro stop is closest
♦ tlj = tous les jours = every day
♦ fermé = closed
♦ ouvert = open
♦ à partir du = beginning
♦ jusqu’au = until
♦ times posted on 24-hour clock so 10H = 10:00 am, 18H30 = 6:30 pm, 21H = 9:0o pm, etc.
♦ in cinema listings, v.o. = version originale = shown in its native/original language with French subtitles
♦ entrée = entry fee
♦ libre = free

That should be enough to get you started! Hope you’ll have fun doing some extra exploring next time you’re in Paris. You may well be surprised just what you find…..

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 because of when we visited.

There are a couple reasons I recall the timing of her trip so well. I was living and working at the Château du Feÿ down in northern Burgundy, where La Varenne cooking school was based at the time. We were going to be down at the château together on Halloween, a holiday that may have gained some traction in France in the past couple of decades but back then (1989) I don’t think it registered even a blip.

Mom being Mom brought the festivities with her. It seemed that half her suitcase was packed with folding black cats and skeleton garlands and pumpkin decorations, not to mention a few bags of Halloween candy (which we distributed among small paper bags and left on peoples’ beds around the château).

She  and I must have taken the train the next morning right up to Paris, because I remember clearly that we were there on All Saint’s Day, November 1. The more solemn, retrospective counterpoint to our trolling-for-candy-and-dressing-up-as-ghouls Halloween tradition, it’s a day to remember and honor those who have passed from this world. Families visit the graves of their kin, and should you be in a largely Christian city of a Western culture like Paris it’s a fascinating day to visit a cemetery.

There are always flower shops open near the entrance to the cemeteries, but on November 1 there are extra vendors on the streets as well. Mom and I picked up a bunch of flowers and as we slowly meandered around the 100-acre property, we would—as so inspired—add a flower to those collecting at the foot of someone’s grave. Someone like Chopin or Edith Piaf or Marcel Proust. There are always flowers being left on graves throughout the year of course, but on November 1, there are loads and loads of them, and candles, and other mementos being left. It’s touching and sentimental, and always fascinating to wander the property and consider the many, many lives represented here from across a couple of centuries. At last count it’s apparently about 70,000 graves in all.

So, that’s what I did today, not sad and glum. Sentimental to be sure, but it was nice to walk a path I know I walked with my mom, to remember a glorious time we spent together in France and to honor her memory today. You may not think to yourself, “hey, let’s go to a cemetery” all that often while on vacation, but this is one I definitely recommend while you’re in Paris.

Back home in Seattle at Anthony’s on Shilshole, the beginning line-up of wines to judge

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 sure. That’s to be inspired by two things. First, the annual judging of the Pacific Coast Oyster Wine Competition, which I did back in Seattle late April just two days before leaving for Paris. And secondly, rereading Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, which I started on that LONG plane ride from LAX. The mastermind behind the oyster wine competition, and its annual host, is the inimitable Jon Rowley. He begins each of these final judging sessions with basic overview of the process (don’t smell the wine first; chew each oyster [lovely kumamotos from Taylor Shellfish, one for each of the 20 wines] then sip the wine to see how they work together; don’t overthink it, make your notes and move on….). Then just before we slurp our first candidate he reads the “benediction.” It’s a couple paragraphs that Hemingway wrote in A Moveable Feast about enjoying a plate of oysters and glass of wine together, a passage of text that in fact inspired Jon to develop this competition to celebrate wines that beautifully complement oysters.

In the case at the celebrated Le Dome in Montparnasse, these among the dearest (read: priciest) oysters I’ve see thus far….

Hemingway doesn’t go into detail about characteristics of the wine he was drinking that made it such a good partner for the oysters. What he does so eloquently say is:

“As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling [from having just finished a story] and began to be happy and make plans.”

But Jon’s been pondering and studying that since launching this competition. He smartly doesn’t tell us judges exactly what to look for — instead leaves it at the “bliss factor.” Appropriately subjective reaction we’re going to have individually to the way each wine interacts with each oyster. For me, the second I sense impressions of oak, butteriness, tropical or fruit character, the wine’s on my don’t-bother list. Not only do those attributes not taste good with the oyster’s briny nature, they often simply overwhelm the oyster and clean it right off your palate, which isn’t the point. Bracing acidity, mineral character, bright flavors, crispness and a clean finish are what I find ideal. The wine should complement the oyster and leave you ready for the next, not palate-fatigued.

Among this year’s winners are some repeat  favorites (of both mine and judges as a whole), including Willamette Valley Vineyards 2011 Pinot Gris, Chateau Ste Michelle 2012 Sauvignon Blanc and Geyser Peak 2012 Sauvignon Blanc. (Of course, previous years’ winners include different vintages.) New to me  (but one I really liked and a first-time winner this year) was the Three Pears Pinot Gris from Three Pears down in California. It’s always a fascinating experience. And it’s hard, once we have flip that switch to go into judging mode, to not also be sizing up each of the oysters as well. They’re all fabulous, but when you start being more aware of what you’re eating and drinking, rather than just mindlessly and robotically consuming, it’s quite eye-opening the distinct and delightful things that happen on our palates. This one’s a bit sweeter, this one a tough more briny, yet another extra metallic.

Some of the fines de claires at Huitrerie Régis

So, not only does this judging process lead to the crowning of ten wines from the Pacific Coast deemed to be the year’s best partners for oysters, but for we judges it’s also a vivid lesson in the beauty that comes from focusing our attention on the simplest, purest and most basic of things. Like a crisp, briny oyster and a crisp, bright wine that makes it shine.

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 the bread, taking a photo or two. Then out walks M. Ridha Khadher himself, who I recognized from photos online, a quick “félicitations!” to him and we began chatting. What an incredibly nice man, super impressed with his congeniality and comfort in spending a few minutes with us despite being a new superstar. His face still beams, and I confirmed with him something that I’d read, that his decision to enter this year was really a last-minute decision on his part. Lesson for life: you can’t win the prize if you don’t join the game.

After a quick photo, he glanced down at what we’d bought and said “that’s not the right one.” We’d bought the everyday baguette. The one he’d won the award for is his baguette à l’ancienne. So back to the counter, with him calling over my shoulder to the clerk, “get one of the warm ones from the back.” So while it seemed silly to have just purchased 2 baguettes, it in fact was a great way to appreciate even more the quality of his winning entry. Much more full in flavor, has a sort of yeasty-earthy character, nutty dark crust, dense crumb with irregular big holes scattered throughout. This post on Paris by Mouth offers an awesome overview on the judging process and what exactly makes the best baguette. Later, picnicing with our bread haul and some cheese picked up along the way, I had to admonish my sister for sharing with the birds crumbs of the ancienne bread when we had plenty of the other stuff still. The birds didn’t care.

So, it was a delightful experience to not only get to taste the recently chosen best baguette in town, but to meet the artisan himself who is behind the win. Our chat was brief, however. He motioned to his cell phone when we started talking, noting that he was due to be getting a call any minute from the President of France. Part of his honor for the win includes being the official source of baguettes for l’Elysée, the French equivalent of the White House for a year. So M. Khadher is going to be a busy man for the coming year. But he sure is a happy one.

A delightful oasis in Paris, Square du Temple.

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 a tourist, I’d been staying at the charming Hotel des Marronniers in rue Jacob in the heart of the 6th, steps from rue de Seine, Boulevard St Germain and other Latin Quarter draws. Aside from about 6 months in an apartment near Sacre Coeur in the early 1990s, I’ve pretty much laid my head down every night on a pillow to the south of the Seine.

Some of the nine locks along the Canal Saint-Martin

After a couple weeks last year considering options for this trip, it dawned on me: I was returning to Paris this time to not just retrace previous steps but to get to know the city better. Get out of my ruts a bit, not fall back solely on the familiar. So I ditched the Left Bank in favor of the Right. And after nearly a week here, couldn’t be happier. I’m in the Marais district which, yes, is popular. The gorgeous Place des Vosges (dating back to early 1600s) is a few blocks away, as is Musée Carnavalet, and lots of great shopping & eating streets among other attractions. But it’s a fraction the tourist-intensity of the islands (Cité, home of Berthillon, and Louis, home of Notre Dame, Ste Chapelle), Place St Michel, Odéon and all that on the other side of the river.

One of the more unique things on this side that I had never visited in all previous trips here was the Canal Saint-Martin, just a 10 or 15 minute walk from here, in the 10th and 11th arrondissements. On May Day we had a lovely morning stroll along the canal, happened upon one boat making its way up the canal, so got to see the locks in action. Which, for a Seattleite having visited the Ballard Locks more than a few times, is familiar mechanics. But given the canal has multiple groupings of locks along the way (unlike Ballard’s single one-step-up/down connection), I had to laugh when I realized that this Paris canal reminded me of the Panama Canal in miniature. The Panama Canal doesn’t have any cool swinging bridges for cars, though. There are a couple roadways that cross the canal just above water level (i.e. no elevated bridge), the canal-topped portion swings to the side when needed to let watercraft pass through. There are a number of dramatically arched pedestrian bridges, artfully embellished with wrought iron. Much of the canal’s 4.5 kilometer length is exposed, but from near Place de la Republique to just before that last lock lowering boats to the Seine, it passes underground.

Didn’t know much at all about the canal, but just read up a bit. It was commissioned by Napoleon at the turn of the 19th century to bring drinking water to Paris from the Ourcq river to the north. Apparently it was paid for by a new tax on wine, which is rather appropriately ironic: drink more wine, French citizens, so we can afford to bring you fresh drinking water! Back to the Panama Canal for a second, did you know that it was actually the French who first started design and construction of the canal? They did a lousy job of it, both in terms of the design approach (in large part because of a project director who had very little experience at all, let alone with a challenge the scale of crossing Panama) and disregard for worker well-being (about 22,000 people died working on the canal in the decade or so the French were in charge). After they foundered and went bankrupt, the project was stagnant for a while before the Americans got on board. But whoever was in charge of this Saint-Martin canal did a GREAT job. And let’s just focus on that for now.

A specialty of the Marais: falafel. Will definitely get back for a taste of these.

So I couldn’t be happier with that decision to jump across the river and spend most of my time this month in parts of Paris I know less well. First afternoon we happened upon the Square du Temple, a lovely park complete with pond and baby ducklings. Rue de Bretagne is ideal for food shops, cafes and the small but interesting network of food stalls in the Marche des Enfants Rouges. The rue des Francs Bourgeois has some great shops of all sorts, including this cool outpost for knitters/sewers/crafters of all types. It’s not overflowing with yarn like most knitting shops but has patterns, accessories and plenty of items (along with some yarn) that would inspire any number of projects. After a quick look-see visit I’m sure I’ll be back with more serious intentions.

I’ve got a few more weeks to soak things up, get more connected with these newer-to-me parts of Paris, which I’m very much looking forward to. As I said in that other blog post, there will be some doses of nostalgia in my daily wanderings. But mostly this trip is all about new explorations. So, with that, off to explore some more today.

I tend to be a big fan of old-school treatment with deviled eggs–mustard, mayo, salt, pepper, not a whole lot more. In fact I’d never really given that much thought to variations on the theme, aside from maybe a bit of minced shallot or dash of cayenne, maybe a shrimp on top for something fancy. And then that all changed when my amazingly creative dear friend Kathy Casey came out with her latest book: D’Lish Deviled Eggs this spring. Now I know better. There’s a wide, wide world of possibilities when it comes to this beloved cocktail party food.

I was lucky enough to attend an event recently (an introduction to the interesting new culinary education site Culination, with which she’s engaged, it’s worth checking out) that coincided with her book’s launch, so there were a number of recipes from the book on hand to sample. I think my favorite was the “California Roll” Deviled Egg, the filling embellished with avocado and wasabi, topped with crabmeat, cucumber and flying fish roe. But the Beet’ing Heart Deviled Eggs were certainly the most eye-catching, the whites lightly pickled with liquid from pickled beets, topped with dice beets and green onion.

After having a chance to flip through the book more last week, I’ve marked a few pages I’m sure to return to before long. Green goddess always gets my attention, which Kathy translates to deviled eggs by adding avocado, garlic and tarragon to the filling and topping the eggs with tarragon and a grinding of black pepper. I also love both the idea of, and the elegant look of, the Boursin Deviled Eggs, with the soft flavorful cheese added to the filling, the eggs topped with a lovely poof of herb salad.

With Kathy in the kitchen, it’s not too surprising that cocktail themes crop up! I know how she loves those dirty martinis, which inspire a variation that includes olive brine and Worcestershire sauce in the filling, the eggs garnished with a sort of relish made with chopped pimento-stuffed olive, lemon zest, cocktail onions and parsley with a splash of gin. Then there’s the Bloody Mary Deveiled Eggs that sees horseradish, Tabasco, Worcestershire, celery, tomato and a splash of vodka incorporated.

For Thanksgiving last year we were lucky enough to get to sample a recipe while the book was in the works, aptly Pumpkin Pie Deviled Eggs, with pumpkin puree, honey, nutmeg and cinnamon embellishing the filling, which is topped with candied pecans. While I lean more towards the savory versions, this definitely was a fun and interesting twist that proves just how many ways there are to upgrade the simple and beloved deviled egg.

Any fan of deviled eggs definitely needs a copy of Kathy’s new book. The trick is that for that next party, you just better whip up with a BIG platter of them! You never know, I might be lurking just around the corner……

Or maybe you have yet to step foot in the City of Light. Opportunities abound for virtual visits, from Funny Face (check out this great clip from the film) to Midnight in Paris, A Moveable Feast to Paris to the Moon. Of all the cities on the globe, I have a hard time imagining one with which people feel more of a connection, a link of some kind, whether direct or in imagination alone, than Paris.

A few of the Frenchy items that keep me company in my office

It’s where I’m heading on Saturday. Not just for a little vacation, not passing through for a few days. A month. In an apartment. For a whole range of reasons but mostly because it’s going to feed my soul a bit. If I had a euro for every time someone has said to me in the past couple of months, ”That’s my dream! You’re doing what I’ve always wanted to do!” it would certainly help defray the costs of the trip. And sure, I’m willing to be the vehicle through which others channel inspiration to check that item off their bucket list. Indeed this has been on my wish list for the past few years. But it’s actually going to be one of the shorter durations for my time in the city. I’ve been very fortunate to have spent a lot of time in France over the past few decades, much of that time in Paris, including two college study-abroad programs and studying/working at La Varenne cooking school. Most of that time was concentrated in the mid-80s to the mid-90s. In the past 15 years, I’ve been to Paris just a half-dozen times maybe, not more than a few days each trip.

So I’m returning to Paris to reintroduce myself to the city. To shake off the Type-A compulsion to tackle Paris with gusto when time’s short on a brief visit, a guidebook in one hand and camera in the other. I plan to walk the streets slowly, to breathe deep, look around, explore without an agenda aside from just following the rhythms and inspirations of the city. I plan to eat well but not grandly, at bistros and wine bars, shopping the street markets. I plan to write, every day, unencumbered by assignment or deadline or any preconceived plan. I plan to explore every street of the Marais district where I’ll be staying and nearby hip-and-arty neighborhoods I’ve been hearing about.

I plan to get to know parts of the city I’ve rarely visited, giving the 5th/6th/7th arrondissements I know so well a bit of a break. Yes, it’s true, I will revisit some old haunts; I’m a hard-core nostalgic at heart. And retracing steps will surely unearth memories that I’d love to capture in writing when they come back to life. Like up on the quiet Rue de Trois Frères in the Sacre Coeur neighborhood where I had the tiniest of studio apartments with a peek-a-boo view of the Eiffel Tower and 2-burner hot plate and loved every moment of it. Or that path between St. Sulpice and La Varenne’s original home on Rue St Dominique, a path I walked daily for a few months from my rented room to school and back. It was my first real-world example of that French “paradox”: I actually lost weight those months despite indulging in whatever the class had cooked each day, with the main meal at midday and regular doses of walking. How could I not love France after that core dicovery? It’s healthy to live like the French.

Me. Paris. Long, long ago. 1985 to be exact.

Aside from that 5 or 6 months in the Sacre Coeur apartment, by far most of my time in Paris has been spent on the Left Bank. Which is why for this trip I’ve based myself on the Right. In the heart of the Marais, just blocks from Place Vosges and in a district that’s rich with art/food/culture/shopping to explore. Oh, I’ve wandered through a few times over the years, hit the Picasso Museum (which is sadly closed until later in the summer), marveled at the interesting cohabitation of Jewish and gay cultures in this area, knishes on one corner, rainbow flags on the next. But it’s been a couple decades and I know the neighborhood’s evolved, becoming even more diverse and interesting. Paris is an ancient city and in many ways presents itself as timeless. But I know it’s also going to feel different after I dive back in.

So, I’m going back to some early roots. My first trip was 1984, college, excited beyond imagination to be in Paris with fellow students for a month and enjoy a pleasure as simple as a ham and cheese sandwich on the street corner. And there have been countless meals, experiences and adventures that followed. The most luxe of which was staying in a mind-boggling suite at the Hotel Bristol on a work trip when they’d lost our reservations…. From platters of couscous in the Latin Quarter to 3-star meals on the Place de la Madeleine. I’ve lived many important moments of my life there. I can’t wait to return, feeling less like a tourist and more like a longtime acquaintance who’s just not been around much lately.

And just being. I ran into a friend recently and told her of the trip, she responded excitedly, “are you going for work? or just for being there?” The latter, to be sure. The former will be accomplished too. But just to BE in Paris, that’s why I’m going. And this is fair warning that my missives here, on Twitter, on Facebook, will be rather French-centric for the coming month. I hope you won’t mind.