DORIE GREENSPAN

My Paris Kitchen: Then and Now

 After whining about how hard it was to leave my new, almost-finished kitchen in Paris, I got comments and messages from friends and readers (and my mom) asking me to post more pictures of the space.  Well, I don't have all that many pictures -- I seem to have taken the same picture over and over -- but I've got enough to give you an idea of what the space looked like when I first saw it and what it looked like the day we had to pack our bags and fly back to New York.

First a bit of background.  In what turned out to be a whirlwind, we sold our Paris apartment on a Tuesday in June and took another apartment that Friday!  The new apartment, minutes from our old place in Saint-Germain-des-Pres, was in really good condition -- except for the kitchen, the room that, not surprisingly, meant the most to me.   Here's what it looked like when I saw it that Friday:

The built-in table is in a nice-sized room that the couple before us used as a dining room - they had turned the "real" dining room into an office - and the kitchen, a very narrow galley kitchen, is right beyond the swinging cafe doors. 

The dining room and the kitchen were painted white, except for one wall, the wall with the arch, that was covered with a dark grasscloth.

Here's the kitchen behind the swinging doors

You can see where the wall (lower left-hand corner) enclosed the space and you can get a sense of how narrow it was.  The white appliance you can see a bit of in the lower right hand corner is the fridge.  I'm used to a galley kitchen -- it's what I've got in New York and the one you see me in in my banner picture.  In fact, my New York kitchen is probably as narrow as this one or narrower -- I can stand in the middle of it, put out both arms and touch both walls.  But this kitchen felt even tighter, perhaps because it was closed in by the wall or perhaps because it wasn't very deep.  Whatever it was, I felt I wouldn't be comfortable in it and yet I wasn't sure what to do with it.  So I called my friends.

I asked my friends -- and neighbors -- Patricia Wells, the wonderful cookbook author and teacher, and Helene Samuel, the restaurant consultant and creator of  Cafe Pleyel, to come see the space and give me their advice.  (I know, I'm lucky to have such talented friends.)  And they each had a different idea.  While both agreed that the swinging doors should be removed, ditto the wallpaper,  Patricia thought I should work within the galley kitchen's confines, and Helene thought I should move the kitchen's working area out into the "dining room" and use the galley as a giant pantry and storeroom for small appliances, the dishwasher and maybe the washing machine.

In the end, I took  the advice of both of my friends -- kind of.  I tore down the wall that separated the kitchen from the dining area, removed the doors, the built-in table and the grasscloth, and decided to use the whole space as a working kitchen/office/and eating area.  In other words, I built a country kitchen.

Here's the way it looks so far:

You can see how tearing down the wall really opened up the space.  The island, in the foreground, has lots of storage, is a great work space, a terrific place for an in-the-kitchen meal and it's where I'll be writing.  The bookcase that you can see along the right hand side, used to be in our living room, but it works really well here.  I've got flour, sugar, spices, canned goods and some serving pieces in there.

I haven't had a lot of time to figure out how I'm going to work in the kitchen, but so far it seems that I'll be doing most of my chopping and mixing on the far side of the island and on the countertop opposite it.  When I'm back in the apartment, I'm going to hang the magnetic strips for my knives over that counter.

Here's the galley part of the kitchen:

You can see that I've got a nice little nook for my mixer and, right behind the striped pot holders and bread bag (cute, isn't it?), where the refrigerator used to be, I've got metal shelving to hold other small appliances, like my blender, food processor and coffee pot.

Here's the last picture:

It's the view from the island.  You can see that we were able to tuck the refrigerator into a closet; finishing the trim is on the punch list.  Getting the refrigerator out of the working part of the kitchen made a big difference. 

There's still more to do, but it's all little stuff and fun stuff, like buying new bread baskets and actually getting into the kitchen and cooking and baking.  I can't wait!

Mortars & Pestles Aloud: Hear All About Them on Splendid Table

A few months ago, when I wrote about my mortar and pestle, there were lots of wonderful comments and an outpouring of love for the truly ancient tool. 

Well, we weren't the only ones with mortars and pestles on our minds.   My friends at Splendid Table called to say that they, too, were thinking about the duo and wanting to talk about them.  And so, because who would ever miss the chance to talk to Lynne Rossetto Kasper, Splendid Table's host, about anything, you can hear us chatting mortars and pestles this weekend or you can listen to the podcast.

As always, when I'm on the show I get to share the airwaves with Lynne's regulars, roadfoodies, Jane and Michael Stern, and her special guests.  This week it's Steve Jenkins, a.k.a. Mr. Cheese, and cookbook author and southern-food scholar, Jean Anderson.

Hope you enjoy the show -- I did.

Phelps Fever - Everyone's Got It!

The display case at my favorite fish market, Star Fish in Guilford, CT, is always whimsically decked out, but yesterday it was exceptional -- every plate of fish was Olympics-ized.  Tuna toted a gold medal, squid carried the Olympic torch, soft-shelled crabs were surrounded by flags of many nations and the arctic char was being reeled in by Michael Phelps, who makes a pretty cute merman.  I loved it and so did everyone else who walked in -- customers were walking along the refrigerator case the way kids walk along Macy's windows at Christmas time.

Actually, it seemed like sports day all over the Shoreline yesterday.  On our way back from Star Fish Market, we stopped at Jake's, a roadside farmstand.  Jake sets up in Zhang's parking lot in Madison starting about noon everyday but Monday in the summer and he's got terrific produce.  His corn is spectacular, his green beans the greenest and snappiest around.  In fact, the only thing that's snappier than Jake's beans is Jake's patter -- I love listening to him chat with his customers, almost all of whom are regulars.  And it was a regular who stopped by yesterday to pin a Boston Red Sox's banner on Jake's truck.  Not that Jake needed to be converted to the team, he was already drinking coffee out of a Sox mug.

Au'revoir Paris

It's so hard to leave my kitchen now that it's almost finished, but I'll be back soon.

Off to the airport.

A bientot.

Food on the Move

Thirty years ago, when my husband and I were building a kitchen (he was actually building it; I was just supervising and changing my mind at inconvenient times), we decided to splurge and hire someone other than Greenspan & Greenspan to paint the apartment.  Following a friend’s advice, we hired two Frenchmen, whose names I no longer remember, but whose seven – count’em – week stay in our apartment will never be forgotten.

 

That it took so long to paint our apartment had nothing to do with its size and everything to do with our painters’ ideas about how life should be lived.  The team would arrive at about ten and we'd have coffee together; at 11 they'd leave to move the truck – New York City alternate-side-of-the-street parking regulations; at 1 they'd break for lunch, a real lunch, set out picnic style and accompanied by wine, bien sur; and then at 2:30 they'd pick up their brushes again.  Do I have to tell you that within days, I was cooking for them? 

 

But here’s the best part:  when it came time for them to do the kitchen, one of them said, “Would you like me to show you how I make puff pastry?”  Of course it was an offer I couldn’t refuse and so, over the next three days, we made a batch of puff pastry a day, clearing off a stretch of counter to roll and turn the dough every two hours or so.  I’m sure the kitchen could have been painted in under three days, but I don’t think I could have found a better puff-pastry prof.

 

It wasn’t the first time a love of food became an unexpected link in an unlikely circumstance – since I’m obsessed with food and it’s always part of my conversation, I’m always meeting “food” people.  My husband says I attract them, but there’s no way I had anything to do with choosing – or attracting – these two men. 

 

 

 

Allow me to present Jean-Harry (on the left) and Rachid, the two gentlemen who were sent by the moving company to put our entire Paris apartment into boxes.  Since we’ve never really moved before – we’ve always arrived empty-handed and stayed put – the prospect of the move was terrifying and I was sure the reality would be worse.  But Jean-Harry and Rachid were calm, reassuring, old-hands at their jobs and, best of all, serious foodlovers, a fact they revealed after seeing that almost every book on the endless shelves was about food. 

From the moment Jean-Harry said, “It looks as though you’re very interested in cuisine,” we talked nonstop.  It seemed like with every box they tied up, they had another recipe (anyone for eggs cooked in sea urchin shells?), another memory of a great meal, a comment about a type of cuisine or a suggestion for serving (pair cold grapes with just-warm vegetable couscous in the summer). 

 

When they left, we exchanged email addresses and said we’d exchange recipes. (I’m hoping Rachid will send me his recipe for white couscous.)

 

People are always giving advice about how to get along in a foreign country, but I think that if France is your foreign country, there’s just one thing you’ve got to do:  Mention food!  You’ll have friends in a flash ... you might even get some recipes.

(BTW, if you're planning a Paris move, the company that sent Jean-Harry and Rachid, Corsica Demenagements, did a terrific job.  If only they were the company in charge of finishing my kitchen ...)

Moving: It's Madness!

How did we ever accumulate so much stuff? And do we really need all of it?  Too late for such questions.  We moved on Thursday and the moving men (about whom more when I've got time) packed everything including a dust kitty or two.  They were so incredibly efficient that there wasn't an instant to raise a hand and call out "stop!" or to make a last minute decision about that chipped coffee cup that was no longer useful but that I was saving because I loved the color.  Everything moved with us and now it's all got to be unpacked.

But not in the kitchen.  At least not now.  And maybe not for a while -- the contractor hasn't finished yet (yes, things are the same the world over) and the oven couldn't get up the staircase and there was a petit leak in the bathroom. 

And internet service?  "It will appear magically," is a rough translation of what Mme. France Telecom told me, and so we must wait. 

All this to say that you might not be hearing much from me for a little while.  (Although, if I can find a cozy internet spot and some time, I am going to try to respond to comments and, if I can unpack my books, come up with the list of cookies Victoria requested for Operation Baking Gals.)

Thank you all so very much for your well wishes -- I needed them and it looks like I'll need them for a bit more.

A bientot -- I hope.

OPERATION BAKING GALS: Time to Enlist

A couple of days ago, I got an email from Susan Whetzel of Doughmesstic saying she'd made the Chocolate Malted Whopper Drops (page 85 in Baking From My Home to Yours; FYI: the oven temperature should be 350 degrees F) and that, even though her husband doesn't like cookies (sounds impossible, I know), he loved these. In fact, she and her husband liked them so much, they decided to send some to Susan's cousin, who, only two months after his first child was born, was posted to Iraq.

And that's the start of a bigger and quite wonderful story.

Because with a baby of her own, a husband and a job, Susan didn't think she could bake enough cookies for her cousin and his troopmates, she put out a call for help to her buddies at Tuesdays with Dorie and Daring Bakers.

In an instant, the baking brigade grew (add this to the list of things proving that bakers are among the world's most generous souls) and Susan started OPERATION BAKING GALS.

The plan is that once a month the "gals" (an acronym for Give A Little Support) will bake for one of their friends or relatives stationed overseas and that everyone will mail their packages at the same time.

Susan's cousin will be the first to get a cookie care package and Susan tells me she's sending the Whoppers, of course, as well as World Peace Cookies (page 138) because, as she says, "What goes better with a soldier in need than World Peace?"

If you'd like to bake with the gals, sign up here.

Paris Priorites: Monoprix

Monoprix is my lifeline in Paris, the store of first-resort for everything from mascara and espadrilles to Monsieur Propre (aka Mr. Clean) and bananas.  It's part drugstore, part housewares store, part clothing store and part supermarket, and every part is really very good (not so surprising when you know that Monoprix is part of the Galeries Lafayette group).  And it's open until almost midnight -- a necessity for lots of us (how many times have I been 1 egg short when I've wanted to do a little late-night baking) and a rarity in this town.

When I came to Paris a decade ago, a friend said, "Make sure you live near a Monoprix," and I've been glad ever since that I took her advice.  But now we're moving -- this Thursday (yikes!) -- and while we love our new apartment, I realized we took it without scouting for that landmark.  (We're not moving far - we'll be just a 10- minute walk from our old store -- but when you're as spoiled as I am, you want those eggs as close as the corner.)  Happily, we just discovered there was no need to fret - a spanking new Monoprix opened a hop, skip and jump from our soon-to-be digs and it's a pretty swell one at that.

On the ground floor there's the drugstore, upstairs are the clothes and mini hardware, kitchen gear and office supplies shops, and downstairs is the grocery. My husband, Michael, and I took a spin around all three floors yesterday, and when we went down the escalator to the supermarket and were greeted by this view

  

Michael exclaimed, "I love the French!  It's perfect that the first thing you see is wine." It's equally perfect that just beyond there's plenty of butter, sugar, flour and eggs. 

How nice to know that future cookie-crises can be averted.  Now if only my oven would arrive ...

Off to Paris

 

I'm leaving for Paris in a couple of hours.  More when I'm settled.  A tres bientot.

Come Bake with Me: The En Plein Air Market at The Florence Griswold Museum

If you live anywhere near Lyme, Connecticut, you could be in for a treat:  Saturday is the annual En Plein Air Market at The Florence Griswold Museum. 

As soon as the date for En Plein Air is announced, I mark my calendar and make certain to be in town, because it's one of the best and most beautiful markets imaginable.  Set up on the lawns of the historic Florence Griswold house, the birthplace of American Impressionism, and now part of the world-class museum that bears her name, the market attracts the best and most interesting growers in the state. 

For the first time this year, En Plein Air, the term for outdoor painting, the specialty of both the French impressionists and the artists that boarded at Miss Griswold's home, will include Midsummer Craft at the Museum Shop. 

Come meet the artists behind:

Billie Beads - dazzling, sparkly, exuberant, handmade jewelry and objets d'art (I find them irresistible)

Angie Falstrom - miniature watercolors, giclee prints and notecards

Kate Hines - pearl jewelry that manages to be both classic and hip

Nankeen - accessories made by the ancient "rescued" technique of blue nankeen

And I'll be there, too, baking and signing copies of Baking From My Home to Yours and Paris Sweets. 

Here's my schedule for En Plein Air:

10 am: Baking Demonstration

11 am to 1 pm: Booksigning

2 pm: Baking Demonstration

In between, I'll be doing what everyone else is doing -- shopping for great food and eating great food.  My friends, Jonathan Rapp from River Tavern and Drew McLachlan from Feast in Deep River, the masterminds behind Dinners at the Farm, will be at The Flo Gris with their "chucktruck," dishing out their wonderful right-from-the-market fare.  They'll also be making my Lemon Loaf Cake for you to taste at my demo -- thank you, guys! -- and using the cake to make a dessert of their own that will be available from the truck. 

I can't tell you how happy it would make me to meet you at the market!  PLEASE, PLEASE, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by, say "hi" and have a piece of cake.