Le Baratin

I don't do restaurant reviews often for the simple reason that I don't go to restaurants often. But, those days are changing. Last night, I ate at a restaurant in my neighbourhood that I'll be going back to, again and again. Le Baratin is a wine bar, with a list of red and whites by the glass, and everything I've had there has been delicious and interesting, but it was the food that wowed me last night.

Before going, someone had told me a secret, that it was one of Pierre Hermé's favourite restaurant. It's a bit out of step with Hermé's neighbourhood, sitting on the edge between the 20th and the 19th in Belleville. It was further parlayed that this most affordable restaurant, had it not resisted the Michelin system, would be sitting with some stars. This should all be forgotten, however. One of the best things about Le Baratin is its lack of pretension. I mean, it was a Tuesday night and the place was packed to the gills and our reservation could only be had for the second service. The crowd is largely artists, and intellectuals from the neighbourhood. Noisy and familiar, the restaurant sits on a dark narrow street halfway up the Belleville hill.

Anyways, last night I started with a 2002 Cheverny red, which I had with my starter: pan fried cod cheek with topinabours (Jerusalem artichokes). The cod was very clean and pure, finished with a wink of cream. Really, a bright jumping little dish. The soft rooty earthiness of the topinabours marries well with the delicate fresh sweetness of the sea. Both aren't agressive enough to overwhelm each other but pack a delicacy that lingers, almost dances, in the mouth. Spectacular.

Benoit's starter was fresh fois gras with de Puy lentils. It came out in a shallow dish as the lentils was finished in a broth. This is the first time I've seen fresh fois gras done this well. A nice finger width slice quickly flash-fried. The sin with fois gras is to over or undercook it. This one might have been the most perfect slice I've ever tasted, with the texture not unlike silken tofu. I ate mine on a slice of crispy baguette, topped with some woody almost mushroomy wine, and then ate a mouthful of lentils. While I always love lentils, they really do make you happier when they've got just a touch of fois gras fat to kiss it. Something to shake your tailfeather about.

Then we had our mains. To be honest, the entrées had left us vertiginous expectations so it would have been hard to live up to the sparkling entry. Still, I think I can comfortably say that my chicken was one of the most delicious dishes I've had in a while: poulet de Challans, in a crepine, stuffed with foie de volailles, served with pleurotes (Chicken wrapped in a crepine, stuffed with poultry liver and served with oyster mushrooms). Everything about this dish was profoundly rich and satisfying and the chicken, well... the chicken tasted, was soaked, with the taste and aroma of chicken!

I had the last portion so this was the main that was the most popular last night. But, not only with patrons. The moment my dish arrived, a little white cat just sat at my feet and looked up. It didn't jump, it just sat patiently, staring up at me, not flinching for a second. I continued to eat, tasting morsels from Benoit's plate, and, every time I looked down, there was that same cat, staring back up at me. Finally, I pulled off a tiny piece and dropped it on the floor. The cat immediately pounced. It was the owner's cat, so it was ridiculously charming and well-mannered. After it's treat, the cat then waited for the door to open and jumped out, sitting on top of the moped to look at the street. What's funny is it didn't beg anyone else. Must have had a thing for the chicken.

Benoit had a grilled sea bass with smashed potatoes and a very bright green parsley sauce. Compared to my baroque plate, it was positively minimal. The tastes were kept separate and the fish was slippery sweet, and it's good to have simple things where the ingredients sing a good solo. The wine we shared was a 2002 red from Ardèche, a rather astringent beast with softer nutty tones afterwards.

Dessert was for me was a baked apple with walnuts, and a glass of Poire William eau de vie, impeccable.

For entrée, plat, wine, digestif and dessert, for two, we shelled out 80€. There isn't a tremendous amount of choice with the food, and presentation isn't exactly a priority, but taste gets top marks. Reservations are recommended. But, don't crowd it out... it's my neighbourhood restaurant.

It's a winner is a turkey!

This year’s Christmas Eve Dinner poll may have revealed something interesting about 2005: this was one weirdly normal year. From people having turkey turkey turkey, always dressed with mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy and cranberry sauce, to someone running out for pizza, Christmas Dinner was normal in that it is unpredictable for some families, and comfortingly repetitive in others.

From participants in different countries representing where my friends are based: France, Canada, US, Malaysia, Singapore and England, I managed to glean some pretty funny results. First, here’s what the breakdown was:


Turkey is in orange, fish is grey at the bottom, chicken is top right in greyish green

I apologize, in advance, for the difficulty in reading the small font... but there were a lot of results. Click on image, and click on different sizes on the bottom right of the flickr page to see the image clearly.

I had 49 contributors this year, up from last year, which I forget. At first, it looked like duck was going to rule the roost, but then I started getting turkeys in the fold (hyuck nyuck!). Later on, we had a late surge of fish. It's nice to see people taking fish seriously, though it's not a traditional Christmas centreplate. This was due, in part, from the french, who show no aversion to having fish as the main when they come from a region famous for seafood, and some pasty english types who were caught eating whitebait and tuna steaks.

What really became apparent, though, is the structuring of the meal. For example, Christmas Dinner in France is a multicourse affair. One expects to have canapes, amuse bouches, oysters, smoked salmon, fois gras and heaven knows what else before the main course. After the main, one might have cheese and salad, even before the dessert. North Americans, in general, don't go for the multi-course operation. It all lands at the table at the same time: meat, potatoes, stuffing, dressings, boiled or roasted veggies and, wow I love it, cranberry sauce.*




Of interest from FRANCE:

1. Pork is not seen as festive or "high-class" food in France.

2. Falafels were the choice of my old vegetarian friends in France.

3. If the field was only limited to France, duck would be our winner. Little Canard Farcis were the birds of choice.

4. Surprisingly, no game.

5. Bread, and bread related food (boudin blanc) had a surprise showing. The bread, however, was an anomaly. This comes from one of my dearest friends who had decided to join her boyfriend in Naples for Christmas Eve. Everything was fine until they realized that Italy, being desperately Catholic, closed up at sundown as everyone went back to their families and houses to feast in private. All the restaurants were closed and they were left nibbling on bread and cheese from the afternoon. So, important lesson, folks: Christmas in Catholic countries is only possible if you already know a family to stay in, or your hotel has a kitchen.

6. Annual Christmas flu results in some people taking Doliprane (painkillers) instead of eating. Very very very sad.


Of interest from NORTH AMERICA:

1. People like their turkey (ha! surprise!)

2. Chicken scored high with first generation immigrants.

3. The Tofu came from another one of my cute little vegetarian friends. She's a second-generation Chinese immigrant and their family ordered Chinese take-out for dinner! The SHAME!

4. From the Oshawa Liberace: My family ordered a party size pizza with pepperoni and green peppers from Pizza Pizza and I had to pick it up.

5. Nice to see lasagne on the list. That's the new America for you.

6. What's with people from California eating Clam Chowder?


The FOODIES
I managed to get a few results from people who are actually professionally involved with food. Of the four asked, three had the simplest meals. The last one, of course, just blew the whole house up.

1. Rice porridge with steamed fish, butter crabs and fruit.

2. Roasted lamb with truffled risotto.

3. A salad of jumbo shrimps and mango with ginger, followed by goose thighs with roasted chesnuts and pureed celery-root, and finished with a Christmas log cake filled with chestnuts and pears.

4. Bouillon de cèpes, pappardelle ("maison" ndlr!) à la farine de chatâigne, coquilles st jacques rôties.
(Broth with cèpes, butterfly pasta ("homemade" ed.) made from chestnut flour, and roasted scallops)
Risotto à la truffe blanche, copeaux de vieux parmesan
(White Truffle Risotto, served with copious amounts of old parmesan)
Dos de bar de ligne, des coquillages, des oursins, sucs citronnés.
(Roasted back of bar, served with cockles, sea urchin in a citrus soup)
2000 feuilles (confiture comme 1 pan forte siennois / riz au lait à la vanille / chantilly de cacao du venezuela... %$#*! A cake not unlike the 'millefeuille'; A pan forte is a kind of Italian cake/ rice pudding/softly whipped cream made from Venezuelan chocolate)
MADNESS!


Of interest from Singapore and Malaysia:

1. Popiah is king. Even if people aren't eating it for Christmas, they're eating it after the turkey has died and gone to bird heaven. I love popiah, one of those street foods from the Malaysian/Singaporean area. Actually, I would be hard pressed to find another place where people are as obsessed with food as they are in those areas. It's the original fusion hotbed.

Why is this important? If you want to spend a lot of money and go hopping around the globe in search of the best meal, you could just stay in Singapore and go to one exotic haut-cuisine restaurant after another. From Argentinian grill to the best Kaiseki, you can have it in Singapore, for the right price.

Finally, here's a breakdown of where my respondants came from:



Bloggers who participated:
Umami, Stellou, Jermunns, Petite Anglaise, Tym, Yuhui, La Dauphine, La Coquette, Wondercorky, Chantel, Laurie, Eric, Juhana and... the inimitable Clotilde Dusoulier.
Thanks so much to everyone, bloggers and non-bloggers, for participating, and happy eating in 2006!


*Cranberries are not native to France. At first I thought 'groseilles' were cranberries, since there were tart and similarly coloured, but I later found out they were currants. In fact, cranberry, in french, is 'canneberge,' and I've only found cranberries grown in Belgium and the Netherlands. That's it.

The Chicken Soup

There's nothing quite so elegant and satisfying to eat, on a damp autumn night, than broth. It takes a bit of time, a bit of patience, but the resulting golden liquid, entertaining on its own or with some lovely bits of boiled root vegetables and chicken, is worth more than any sad delivery or restaurant meal.

Most people will agree that there's a difference between restaurant and home-cooked meals. Usually, we think the difference is in appearance, decoration, technique, availability of ingredients, time. But, the difference is really in taste. After all, nothing tastes quite like something what you make for yourself to eat because, when you cook, you're adjusting everything to your taste.

That given, I've decided to start on a basic note: chicken soup.

My mother is an adamant believer in broth. After all, she is Cantonese, and Cantonese cuisine features some of the most elegant, intricate and intriguing broths around, often made from items one might imagine in a witch's larder: dried squids, foxseeds, lotus roots, dried prunes. Usually these ingredients are boiled in nothing more than water and a few pork bones thrown in for good measure. In fact, there are three crucial things to making a good broth: time, balance in ingredients; and never letting it reach a boil.

For a basic chicken soup, one has only to do the simplest things: chop chop chop, toss in the stock pot, cover with water, bring to a simmer, and go do something else. Here are my standard ingredients, and I have a rather large stock pot (12qt?), a rather cumbersome beast in miniature Paris apartment kitchens (as you'll soon see).

Ingredients:
4-5 medium carrots
2 medium onions
3 celery stalks
5 smallish turnips
1 big chicken (free-range; get a good one and ask your butcher to help you)*
3 bay leaves
3 branches of thyme
a very small handful of peppercorns
3 stalks of parsley
2 cloves



optional (and pictured)
1/3 celery root - because I had it lying about and wanted it finished
1 pork bone - I add pork bones to every little stock I make. I find a little pork bone adds body without dominating taste. Of course, if you're Jewish or Muslim, no pork for you.

Then, put in on to boil. Just as it hits that boiling point, reduce to simmer temperature and skim the scum off. Scum! Ugh, how I hate it. But, the real thing to watch out for is the heat. NEVER LET IT BOIL. Always simmer. A boiled stock is a ruined stock. I remember a scene in that lovely foodie film, Tampopo, where the aspiring ramen chef has a nightmare that she is being attacked, only to wake up and find that she left her stock to boil. Oh the drama! Similar in technique to braising, never let stewed or boiled meat actually boil. You'll lose all the taste and you might as well go get yourself a sandwich and fries to cry in.

Then, after ignoring the soup, playing with your toes, checking your email three times and maybe having some phone conversations, snacking on chocolate and having a nap, you'll check on your soup. This should be roughly 3 hours after. The whole apartment will be perfumed with that homey smell of chicken soup. Enough romantics! Pull the carcass out.



The thing is ugly, beastly, pale and ready to fall to pieces. Slide the meat off the bone and roughly chop up. Toss back in and finish the seasoning. Oops, and don't forget to pull out the aromatics as well (celery, parsley, bay leaves and thyme branches).



Today's version also included some unorthodox ingredients like Chinese Napa cabbage and green and red peppers. You can also throw in some dumplings, the western kind (made from flour, butter and milk). I'm not adverse to dumplings, even though I know they usually make people think of grubby-fingered peasants in some dingy-coloured countryside. Dumplings, if made right, are just the good bits floating in your soup that silkily slide down the gullet. They can fill out an ordinary broth into a complete meal.

Ideally, it's the broth you want. Sometimes, I like to pull out all the ingredients and just serve the broth, with the chicken on the side. A bit like a fowl version of pot au feu. But, excellent clear broth, with nothing added, can go under that more patrician name, consommé. With everyone rushing around adding truffles and fois gras to everything, and of course truffles and fois gras are quite fun, people have forgotten that true elegance is in a perfected consommé. It's the difference between all the hipster botoxed people running around and an unmade-up woman with gazelle-like grace and well-cut clothes simply sauntering by.

Of course, we needn't pretend to be that gazelle-like woman either. We could just rent a DVD, put on our slippers and eat chicken soup.
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*Chicken is so suspect these days it's better to just save the extra money and buy a real farm-fresh bird. All those other days, keep yourself occupied with something else. Trust me. It'll make you like chicken all over again.