America's Test Kitchen "Dish It Your Way" Blogger Challenge!

Over the course of the summer, I’ll be participating in the America’s Test Kitchen “Dish It Your Way” Blogger Challenge.  The “Dish It Your Way” asks blogger to recreate an American classic dish throughout the summer, share the recipe, and tell a story.  This week: Fried Chicken.

For those who don’t know, I’m American, and my husband, Christophe, is French.  This has given us an immense playing field to explore new cuisines, share traditions, and celebrate new holidays (he loves Thanksgiving).  Last Christmas in Chicago, Christophe had his first taste of this “amazing dish” that was crunchy, spicy, and made with fried chicken.  That’s right, the man who has criticized the “culinary catastrophe” of chicken nuggets has found himself enamored with the adult version: fried buffalo chicken stripes.  Not the commentary one would expect from a Frenchman who likes to spend hours tinkering in the kitchen, but none the less, a new experience for him and one he wanted me to recreate.  I’ve tried a few recipes, but none of them lived up to our expectations.  We have learned, recipes don’t always translate well from one continent to another, so it’s all about adapting.  Therefore, I turned to another recipe for inspiration and decided to move the spicy part of the dish to the condiment. The batter in this recipe is adapted from the Cook’s Illustrated “Fish and Chips”, and the heat in the recipe is provided by a spicy mayonnaise dipping sauce.  As I’m discovering, being a good cook is not just able following a recipe, but learning how to use to as a guide.  I’ve also learned that when done right, chicken nuggets can be darn good, and yes, I am calling them nuggets just to get his goat.

Buffalo Chicken Nuggets with Homemade Spicy Mayonnaise

Fried Chicken Nuggets

·         2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into 1 inch cubes

Mix together in a rimmed baking pan and then set aside:

·         ½ cup unbleached all-purpose flour

·         ¼ cup cornstarch

·         ½ teaspoon cayenne

·         ½ teaspoon paprika

Whisk together in a large bowl:

·         ½ cup flour

·         ¼ cup cornstarch

·         ½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

·         1 teaspoon baking powder

·         ½ teaspoon paprika

·         ½ teaspoon salt

·         ½ teaspoon pepper

Then add 1 ¼ cup cold beer and whisk until a lumpy batter forms.

Drench cut chicken into the flour mixture in baking pan, shake off excess flour, and then drench in batter.  Place chicken pieces on a cooling rack to let excess batter drip off, 2-3 minutes.  Then fry the chicken in an electric deep dryer for 6-7 minutes, or in 1 ½ quarts of vegetable oil heated to 375 degrees, also for 6-7 minutes.

Serve hot with spicy dipping mayonnaise.

Spicy Homemade Mayonnaise

The key to making sure the mayonnaise “takes” is to gather all the ingredients beforehand and allow them to reach room temperature.

Mix in a deep bowl:

·         1 large egg yolk

·         2 tablespoon mustard

·         1 tablespoon lemon juice

·         ½ teaspoon salt

·         ½ teaspoon pepper

·         1 garlic clove, crushed

·         1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

·         ¼ teaspoon paprika  

Also needed:

·         Olive oil

Place a kitchen towel under the bowl so it slants up slightly towards you and the liquid mixture runs together. Using an electric mixer on high speed in one hand, slowly drip olive oil into the mixture.  Do not move the mixer around like in a cake batter, instead focus on a single spot to drip the oil.  The mayonnaise will start to “take” when that area becomes fluffy and creamy – after a few minutes of mixing.  At that point, the mixers can slowly be moved around to incorporate the rest of the mixture.  A Kitchen Aid with the whisk attachment could be used in place of an electric mixer or a hand whisk for the brave.

Transfer to serving bowl and garnish with chopped chives.  

I have learned that adaptation is needed to be successful.  Recipes are guides, unless if it's in baking - and that is why we have pastry chefs. 

I’ve also learned I’ll never be a professional food photographer; taking a good photo is a lot harder than it looks.

Do you know what this is?

What is this?  No, this is not a “pull my finger game”; I really don’t know.  Clearly, it’s a lizard, but what kind?  We’ve asked our local nature expert, Madame Gousse, and she has no idea.  It moves very fast, and this is the best photo I’ve been able to take of it.  We find it on our terrace, and it has been spotted twice outside our bedroom window, but never have we seen it elsewhere it the village.  Is it a dominate predator decimating the endangered green lizards and salamanders indigenous to the area?  Is a link to a prehistoric past?  Is it a crazy mutant with super powers? What the heck is the creature?

For the love of slippers

For being the world’s fashion capital, France has one really strange thing going for it: slippers.  Never in my life have I see so many people outside with slippers on.  This is not the quick dash to get the morning paper from the driveway, but rather, a conscience effort to use them as daily footwear.  I’ve seen people in the bakery, walking down the street, and even gardening while wearing slippers.  Heck, I’ve even witnessed people drive to our house with their slippers on and then sit at the kitchen table with a cocktail in hand oblivious to the fashion faux pas right at our feet.  I have no idea as to why this is done.  Slippers are not outdoor footwear, but some reason, many people here think they are.  I’m all for comfortable shoes, but I think this goes past the limit of acceptability and into the realm of ridiculous. 

There you have it, the hidden, dirty truth: the French have great shoes, but refuse to wear them outdoors, maybe they're scared of getting them dirty.

It makes me wonder what they wear around the house.

It’s almost noon, quick, get out of the store! The French love affair with lunch.

If ever in France, particularly anywhere outside of Paris, never try going to a store at lunchtime because it will be closed.  Lunch is sacred here, so every store closes up between noon and 2 pm so all its employees can go home, eat lunch, and maybe squeeze in a nap.  This is a great idea, but is something that still gets under my skin when I want to go shopping and find that noontime is fast approaching.  So, I was thrilled to read the news that our local grocery store will stay open “non-stop” on Saturdays; that is, they will not close for the traditional two hour lunch.  (All of France closes down on Sunday, except for the bakeries, so the extra hours make up for the difference.)  I thought people would embrace this change because it meant not cutting the day in half.  Chores could get done and grocery unpacked by 12:30 or 1pm and everyone would happily get on with the day. I was wrong; customers rush out of the grocery store minutes before noon in a mad panic, as if Cinderella leaving the ball at the stroke midnight.  Perhaps it’s because everyone wants to get home for their lunch and nap, but this phenomenon of noon – 2pm is something I don’t get.  I like a good lunch, but it is liberating to get what I need to do without a forced pause in the middle of my day.  One the plus side, I’ve found the checkout lines shorter and the aisles much less crowded when I aim to do my shopping just after the mass exodus.  The few people who do remain also seem much calmer, and there is always a polite nod, as if in recognition of the cultural regulation broken.  I’ll take it; it’s our own little secret club: “the noontime shoppers”.  We shop at noon, and we’re proud of it.

From Paris, with love…. I think.

For a long time now, a friend of Christophe’s would call the house.  The phone conversation would go something like this:

Me: Hello?

Friend: Hi!  It’s Bob.  I’m calling from Paris.

Then, I would give the phone to Christophe telling him Bob is calling us from Paris.  The problem was, Bob was never in Paris, but enough time has passed that I could not nonchalantly ask, “What, where are you?  I don’t understand.”  So, I would simple ignore it and give Christophe the phone.

Christophe finally explained it to me.  This is what was said on the phone:

Me: Hello?

Friend: Hi!  It’s Bob.  I’m calling you from the apparatus.

You see, à l’appareil sounds a heck of a lot like Paris (do your best French accent here) on the phone.

The translation: Bob is calling me from that new-fangled do-hickey thing (the apparatus) that sits in his living room, and he’s letting me know it.

Bob is a bit older than me, so that “apparatus” that sits in his living room is still something new.  This is nothing you would hear from someone who grew up with phones and computers.  It would be as if I wrote:

Hi Jane!  It’s Lynn.  I’m emailing you on the internet.

I half want to try this phrase out just to see what reaction I’d get.  Regardless, I’m glad to finally understand it and to realize that not all our friends have high tailed it to Paris and have decided to call us to let us know that.

Late Spring Planting in the Garden



View of staked tomato plants from an upper terrace in the garden



In April, we planted potatoes and onions in our vegetable garden.  They go into the ground early because of their longer growing season and because they need the cool spring nights to get started.  They should be ready to harvest in just a few short weeks.  Last week, we finished the second stage of planation.  We have the usual suspects – tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, zucchini, and squash, alongside some herbs and berries, which are about to finish their production.

Our neighbor, Madame Gousse, starts all her plants from seed and years ago, would give Christophe the extra seedling that did not fit into her garden.  As the years went by, she simple began seeding more and more and now provides us with all our annual vegetables.  Depending how the seeds took, the amount of vegetables we have each year can vary, but it usually is in the neighborhood of 150 seedlings to plant.  In past years, we tackled this planation all in a single day.  At first, it was fun, but like many big projects there comes a time when the end seems too far away and the amusement of it has been zapped away.  We would drag ourselves back to the house in twilight wanting only a shower and a place to sit down.

Happily, this year is different.  We finally wised up and spread out the job over a few days.  We planted 10 different varieties of tomatoes, 70 in all, and got them staked up to new reeds Christophe cut down from the river bank.  Then, the next day, we finished with the rest of the plants.  And you know what?  The fun came back.  We found the pleasure of planting a garden again.  I know the garden is work; days will come when I am tired and I’ll come back to the house coated in sweat and dirt.  But I’m happy to re-find the anticipation of planting something with hopes of how it will turn out instead of just wanting the job to be done.

Pleasures of the Season: Line Dried Sheets

“Pleasures of the Season” is a series of posts which appear from time to time.  They focus on something special that occurs only seasonally, often fleeting, and something we anticipate.  In some cases, the season is quite short, other are longer, like the post below.  The posts are sometimes food related, sometimes not, but highlight moments of what I’ve learned about living with the seasons since moving to Southern France.

Up until last year, we did not have a clothes dryer.  This is nothing special for the region; in fact, most people in Southern France don’t have clothes dryers.  Those who do are English.  Most of the year, we can dry our clothes outside, but we were getting fed up having our living room filled with drying laundry on rainy spring days.  So, we finally broke down and decided to buy a dryer, and we quickly discovered our living room is much bigger than we thought.  We were thrilled.  In the course of a single day, we could wash and dry our clothes just like much of the civilized world.  This was great until we tried one thing: sheets.  Sure, they tumbled softly in the drier and no longer cluttered the laundry basket just like everything else, but something was missing and it took me several turns in the dryer to figure it out.  They no longer had that outdoor smell -  it’s not even a smell, it’s more of a perfume.  I can never really say what it comes from, but I’m guessing it’s from all the blooming flowers and trees and it is clearly more pronounced in the spring and fall.  I don’t get that when I put the sheets in the dryer, and ‘Mountain Breeze’ scented fabric softeners don’t even come close to it.  It sounds crazy, but I really, really love that smell.  I love the day I change the sheets and get excited about going to bed early.  I even plot out my day so I can.  I take this small thing as a luxury, even though I’m sure many people would see it otherwise.  It is a lot easier to simply put things in the dryer, but I’m willing to work a little more for line dried sheets.  Don’t get me wrong, I am still thrilled with the dryer, the clutter free living room, and the almost empty laundry basket.  I didn’t think I would revert back to line drying anything, but the sheets convinced me; line dried sheets really are a pleasure of the season even if it means stepping back out of the civilized world momentarily.

Strawberry jam, Part 2: A success story or knowing when it's time to ask for help

Last week, when I wrote I asked everyone I know about making strawberry jam, I was fibbing a little.  I never asked Madame Gousse, our dear friend.  She knows everything, whether it be about plants, the cuisine, or her new hobby, cultivating bees.  So why didn’t I ask her for help when I was making strawberry jam that would be better used as mortar?  Shame.  As small and simple as that might be: shame.  If everyone kept telling me that making strawberry jam was that simple, how could I build any culinary trust between us if I couldn’t get this first step right?  I’m trying to learn all I can from her about the Catalan cuisine, so I needed to show her I could get the little things right.  Like, who’s going to show you how to make a soufflé if you can’t crack an egg?

Boy, was I wrong for not asking sooner.  She gave me no blank stares, no bulging eyes, no jaw dropping – she just simply told me how to do it and what I was doing wrong.  To sum up the lesson: I was Americanizing the process.  I was thinking too big.  I was hording the berries in the freezer so I could make a batch as big as possible to say how much I’ve made and how efficient I have been.  Wrong.  The process is small; use only the berries collected that day to make the jam.  Most of the time, it means only making a jar or two at a time, no more.

Since my lesson, I’ve made strawberry jam twice now, once creating two jars and once just a single jar.  Each time, it has come out perfect.  It’s clearly more time consuming, but I can be proud of the product I have created.  In fact, I can actually eat it. 

It’s all about adapting.  I’ve learned that sometimes applying what you know to something new works, but knowing when to step back and try a new method is even more important. 

The Best Craftsmen in France

I watched a documentary the other night that was just amazing.  It was about the Meilleurs ouvriers de France or “The best craftsmen in France”.  It’s a competition, held every four years in any manual field, where professionals compete for the title of the year’s best work.  The program I saw focused on the Meilleurs ouvriers de France in cooking, and it is an extremely grueling concourse.  Whoever wins gets to wear a blue, white, and red banded collar on his chef’s coat for the rest of his life, that, along with the admiration of the rest of his colleagues in the field.  It is a huge thing.  Veteran chefs go into training with previous Meilleurs ouvriers de France winners for years before entering the concourse.  For years, on top of everything else they have done – that’s commitment.  Then, once the concourse starts, previous winners stand over them and judge quite harshly, while taking notes on the whole process.  This is not your reality TV program, this is the real thing.

Outside of my love for cooking, what really drew me into this is the passion that each of the chefs have.  They wake up thinking about their work and are inspired to do better by everything around them; a simple walk turns into inspiration for something new.  They are awe inspiring as they try to achieve absolute perfection -  not just in the finish product, but in the process of creating.  There is a transmission of ideas; these chefs share their techniques with each other so the profession as a whole will continue and get better.  How’s that for teamwork?  They collaborate for the patrimony of art, so the French cuisine will continue to be what it is.  Watching this makes me want to make the best dinner possible every time, even if it is just spaghetti.

It's not your onions, and other great French phrases

Just like in English, the French language has lots of popular phrases.  Here’s one that I like:

Ce n’est pas tes oignons

A literal translation would mean:

“It’s not your onions”.

Useful translation:
It’s none of your business.

I first tried using the phrase, “Ce n’est pas tes business”, but people only shook their head at me.  The language doesn’t work that way, got to stick to the phrase with no modifications.

I’ve asked around as to the origin of this French phrase, but no one seems to know.  Perhaps it is because I didn’t grow up on a farm, but I can’t come up with an American phrase that is rooted in agriculture like this.  I think this shows the profound influence culture and history have on popular vernacular.

Here’s another I like:

Arrête de me raconter des salads

Or:

“Stop telling me about salads”.

More useful:

Stop lying to me.

I love the image this one creates, like a salad is going to takes your lies anyway.

Do you have any favorite botanical based phrases? (Keep it clean, please…)

Stick to your ribs strawberry jam

Strawberry jam: one of the basics of jamming.  It’s the starter jam everyone begins with before moving onto more complicated ones.  It’s the first hole in miniature golf, the kiddie hills of skiing, the splash pool, the old mere horse, the beginner’s stage of everything, you know: the easy stuff.  And each time, I mess it up.

I just made my first batch of the season and I have created stick to your ribs strawberry jelly, not jam, but cement like jelly.  The kind of stuff that would be better sliced and served like cranberry sauce at Thanksgiving dinner.  Yep, I messed it up that badly.  Each and every time I make strawberry jam I have a problem; it’s way too thin, the berries don’t cook right, or, I get mortar.  I can make the more complicated jams.  Chestnut jam is firmly set in my repertoire, and I quickly mastered quince jamming, which is not easy, but there is something elusive about strawberry jam to me.  I just can’t get it right.  Maybe I’m too impatient since it’s also the first fruit of the season.  Maybe it’s because Chantal, who showed me how to make all the other jams, only explained this one to me.  I’ve asked everyone I know who makes jam what they do, and everyone tells me the same thing, “Oh, it’s easy”.  Then, their eyes get wide when they hear how badly I’ve messed it up.  It doesn’t bother me, but I’m getting worried as bags and bags of strawberries are starting to accumulate in the freezer.  Maybe, just maybe, I should turn to tarts - but they seem like such less of a challenge for me.  At least this way, I won't have strawberry scented cement at the breakfast table. 

Le Canigou

I’m a little late for my Friday blog, but I was having technical difficulties.   Can I do that?  Yes, I’m going to call that card: technical difficulties.  I guess you could say, “Just go to a hotspot café, they’re everywhere”, but let me remind you where I am: in the middle of the mountains.  There are no cafés.  Luckily, I found a computer guy not too far away, so “Mr. Computer” got the machine and the connection up and running again.  Since mountains and the challenges living near one is a timely subject for me, let me share some information about the most popular mountain in the region: Le Canigou.

Once thought to be the tallest peak in the eastern part of the Pyrenees Mountains, the Canigou is a sacred mountain to the Catalan region, the Southeastern most part of France.  It has been loved, feared, and honored for centuries and is the subject of numerous folkloric songs and stories.  It towers 9,137 feet in the air and is an ever present backdrop to life in the region.  In fact, on June 22, the summer solstice, a festival is held there, called the Flama del Canigó.   Each surrounding village brings wood to create an enormous bonfire that burns all night long.  Then, the flame is brought back down to the plain and used to light other festival fires.  I’ve never been to the Flama del Canigó, but if the night is clear, I can see the flame on the mountain from the terrace.

Growing up in the Chicago area, I was exposed to lots of corn covered flat land.  I’ve never lived near a mountain nor had the desire to; I was a Mid-Westerner.  Meat and potatoes, and corn, and lots of it.  That was of course until I moved into the middle of a mountain range in Southern France.  No corn, no flatland, and no gently rolling hills.  Now, Le Canigou has replaced the corn fields and I watch snow drift off its peak from September to May.  I like looking up and seeing if it has a new layer of snow or if the last of it has melted away for summer.  It’s a gage for the season, a lot like the height of the cornstalks in the field.  I do miss the Mid-West, and I think it takes a born and raised Mid-Westerner to say that, but I’m okay with the change.  The mountains are not an easy place to live, and sometimes, things like the internet can be elusive.  I’ve learned to role with the changes; besides, I guessing a hotspot café in the middle of a cornfield isn’t easy to find either.

May Notes: A Review

It’s June 1^st, so you know what that means: May Memoir has come to a close.  I’ve had a great month sharing excerpts from my memoir, Ca va?  Stories from Rural Life in Southern France.   I hope it provided insight of life here and gave you a few laughs about our adventures.  The manuscript is not yet published, and my search for a literary agent continues, but once all those pieces fall into place, I’ll provide more information as to how the writing process and transformation go.

A lot has happened over the last month, so let me give you a rundown:

The trumpet vine we planted is growing an inch a day.  We planted it last fall, but then were immediately hit with a cold snap, so we thought it died; happily, it didn’t.  At the rate it’s growing, it will soon be covering the whole garden.

The potato plants have started to bloom.  We planted two varieties: Charlotte and Rosabella.  So far, both varieties look good and receive a regular watering, but it’s always a surprise to unearth what is underneath when it comes harvest time.

Tiny, tiny green threads have pushed their way up in our herb patch: dill weed is on its way!  This was my addition to the garden; Christophe never planted it before I arrived.

Christophe finally got around to fixing our small, fiberglass greenhouse.  It sits on the ground and is smaller than a refrigerator, but it’s great for seedlings.  I’ve started some basil and pumpkin in it minutes after he was done.

Early May was cool and sunny which was great for the strawberries plants.  We impatiently waited for the first strawberry, but were sorely disappointed to discover it was eaten by a fox.  Since then, we have been extremely vigilant about gathering them before he has a chance to eat his evening dessert.  Ten pounds of berries have been collected so far, and we’ve noted the fox has moved to digging in our compost pile.

One hundred sweet onions are rapidly growing in the garden, but won’t be ready to harvest until late August.

Sadly, one of our elm trees became infected with Dutch elm disease and had to be cut down.  It started last year, but we had hopes it would pull through since younger trees can bounce back, ours didn’t.

Our saffron has gone dormant.  Its wispy green shoots have finally yellowed and withered.  Now, we wait until September for the plant to spring back to life bringing with it amazing purple flowers and its world’s most expensive and awesomely delicious spice.  

That’s all in a quick nutshell.  I’ll be back with regular posts on Friday.