BF approved breakfast tacos

Today, like many days, I woke up wanting to cook. I've been loving Oeufs en Cocotte ever since I got my little cocottes, but something more substantial, with a little more color, was needed today. Because we are in Austin, breakfast tacos are always on the menu. But we're all out of bacon! Commence improvisation.  Sliced turkey and havarti were purchased yesterday for camp girl's lunch, but she decided she wanted P. Terry's despite the wealth of lunch ready products.  So voilà. BF approved egg white turkey havarti breakfast tacos à la maison.

 I love my kitchen, but it's a terrible backdrop for photos. Working on a fix.

BF approved breakfast tacos
It's hatch season in Austin, so pretty much hatch everything.
-hatch chile tortillas
-egg whites
-herb roasted turkey
-roth havarti
-improv salsa (see below)
-whole foods' hatchamole

improv salsa
It's exactly what it sounds like! I had some jalepenos from the farmer's market, so I decided to make some salsa, originally for a mango salsa with some fish a couple nights ago, but hey, salsa is salsa, and it goes great on breakfast tacos. Grab stuff from the fridge that might be good in salsa. Tomatoes? Awesome. Squash? Sure! Apple? Why not. What I found is listed below. Combine all ingredients in a food processor (did I mention how much I love my Breville??) and pulse.
-seeded jalepeno, however many you want man, spicier the better
-seeded red pepper, cut into 1" cubes
-zucchini, cut into 1" slices
-red onion
-salt, pepper to taste
mix in juice of one lime, et voilà, improv salsa!

la nourriture d'Europe

No really.  We actually ate our way through Europe.  As we road-tripped from Paris to Munich (not doing that again), down through Italy's Lake Como to the Côte d'Azure at Menton and Villefranche sur mer, back up through Lyon to Paris, we ate, and ate, and ate. There's something about those fixed menus that entirely negate the not-so-meagre European portions.  Everyone always says that American portion size is out of control, but I have never eaten so much as when I'm basically forced to order appetizers and dessert. Don't get me wrong, la mère et moi, we're not complaining. This is just a snippet of the wonders we were served.

Currywurst am Imbissstand, Bavaria

Ah Munich, where no one bats an eye at sausage and a beer for breakfast. While not for breakfast, this is currywurst on the way to see Neuschwannstein (wholly underwhelming), originally a Berliner specialty, now a staple throughout the country. Can't get it without the pommes though. Or a beer.

Truffle Ravioli, Focaccia, Caprese at Hostaria del Moro da Tony, Rome

Ok, so maybe it wasn't France, it was Italy where I fell in love with truffle. The Hostaria del Moro, or what all the American students from the John Cabot Rome campus in Trastavere lovingly refer to as Tony's, was a welcome respite for my wallet and my stomach. Couldn't even finish this dish, though I gave it a good shot. And did I mention the 8€ bottle of wine? I think I got out of there with all pictured plus free tiramisu (I think they felt sorry for me, eating alone on easter) for about 18€ tops.

Tonnarelli Cacio e Pepe, Panzirone, Rome

A little more on the touristy end on the Piazza Navona, Panzirone had just the view of the central fountain I was looking for after I escaped St. Peter's square and the Easter hoard. This tonnarelli cacio e pepe is a roman specialty of fresh pasta with goat cheese and cracked pepper. Absolutely melodious. More pricey after having to pay for water (one thing I will always love about Texas is my free water) on top of a crisp white, but worth it in the end.

Moules Frites, Le Napoléon, Biarritz

Non-descript bistro on some beach view square in Biarritz. Decent mussels and wine pairing. A bit touristy. But hey, mussels just look so cool.

Traditional Regional Dish, Chez Albert, Biarritz

Situated on the Fisherman's pier of Biarritz, Chez Albert serves cuisine native to the region that borders on Spanish cuisine. Though a Texas May is hot and sunny, apparently May on the Atlantic French is rainy and a bit cold. As the drizzle turned into a steady rain, I ducked in to the covered patio and took a seat. Only downside was the strange side glances the Russians sitting next to me kept flashing my way. I cannot for the life of me remember what this dish was called, but it was a fillet of what looked like grouper, or another oily fish, with an array of peppers, onions, and tomatoes.  Just what I needed to deflect the rain, cold, and steely Russian glances.

Foie Gras, Bordeaux

Maybe I just need good foie gras, but I was unimpressed. What was billed to me as a buttery luxury was more of a sweet goo that does not compensate for my compromised morals.

Fried Seafood, Da Luigi, Bordeaux

Wandering the streets by myself, per usual, struggling to find the perfect dining mix of not too empty, not too crowded restaurants where a single diner can blend in with a glass of wine and a book, it was the smell of Da Luigi that stopped me in my tracks.  I wandered a bit more (I just couldn't eat Italian food when there has got to be so much good French food around, right?) before I caved and found my way back to the Osteria where Luigi gave me a warm greeting in French, Italian, and English. The front was small, but chic; the menu short, but comprehensive to steer you away from the too common option paralysis. This dish was meant only as an appetizer, but again, the whole fixed menu thing, I always order too much, and it was plenty, and divine.  America is known for frying things, but the light breading perfectly accented the fresh nautical haul.

Tantanmen, Fufu, Bordeaux

Though Austin's Ramen scene is not unknown, I would of course first try the cuisine japonaise in France. I'm not usually a soup person, but something about the weather and the two companions I met during the wine tour earlier in the day made me a little adventurous. Incredibly affordably priced. I'm not sure how Fufu compares to other Ramen sources, but I enjoyed my first dish and will assuredly be exploring Austin's own versions.

Salade Lyonaise, L'amphytrion, Lyon

Salade Lyonaise, or what I like to call, breakfast on a salad.  Or the most perfect salad ever. Take your pick. This little bouchon featured a perfected traditional menu, but I believe the pinnacle is this salad. A poached egg, lardons (thick bacon), croutons, this version impressively added tomatoes, topped with a light aioli-esque mustard dressing that I have tried and failed to imitate. But try again I must. Or just buy a plane ticket back to Lyon.

Café gourmand, Au Pied de Cochon, Paris

I first went to Au Pied de Cochon about 4 years ago with two friends while traveling Europe as a birthday present from ma mère, and frankly, 4 years ago it was much better.  While it was always a little kitschy, it has gone full tourist mode. Mutter had just arrived, freeing me from my solo trek across the continent. The BF got their specialty, the pigs foot, and despite the gargantuan meat thing that showed up on his plate, the edible portion was almost nonexistent. La mère got lamb, as always, and I got some steak thing with vegetables. Thoroughly average. But this meringue pig is just adorable.

La Perla, Paris

Truffle Risotto, La Perla, Paris

If there were any doubts in my love of truffle after my jaunt in Rome, this risotto wiped them out with tsunami force. Perfectly accented by prosecco, which became a motif of our trip, everything was subsequently compared to "that risotto in paris."There are no apt descriptors other than life-changing that can adequately approach how I felt about this risotto. I can't remember the price.  I hardly remember the quartier. I can't remember what Mutter got, I was so absorbed in my truffle dreamscape, but by the pictures it looks amazing, too.  Next trip to paris I will seek out this Italian escape immediately after the landing gear touches the ground.

Brezel und Bier, Englisher Garten, München

We just couldn't leave Munich without stopping at a traditional beer garden. More sunny in Juni than when I had last visited in fevrier, there was a traditional polka band in the Chinese tower in the German version of an English Garden. A little bit of culture there, no? The park was full of families and friends enjoying the sun, and beer, and food, and beer, and music, did I mention beer?

Arrabbiata, Truffle and Mushroom spaghetti, Bellagio, Lake Como

Still on my truffle kick, I had to order anything that said a la truffe. But the star of this meal was really the Arrabbiata my mother ordered. That tender and slightly pleasurable pain of spicy food is something I missed in European cuisine, but this dish adequately satisfied that craving. Or maybe it was the prosecco and the lakeside view. Let's go with the red pepper. 

Bubbles, Monaco

After stumbling upon the changing of the guard at the Monegasque Royal Palace, we wandered the nearby streets. Again, I love my bubbles.

Mojito fraise, Monte Carlo

In a fortuitous turn of events, our bathing suits were still in my bag from the day before. Like we had in Menton, we pulled up a chair (or rather paid a hefty sum and Jules, our cabana boy, as maman liked to refer to the men who served our drinks, put up an umbrella for us) and ordered strawberry mojitos and watched the mega yachts come and go, brainstorming what on earth I'd have to do to rent one for just one week.

Fritto Misto de la Mer, Le Bistrot de la Rade, Villefranche sur mer

 At a certain point, I stopped remembering the names of restaurants. But luckily we have Google maps! From the various pictures my mother and I sent to my dad, he said this bistrot looked like a movie set. Squeezed between the warm hued walls in an alley of the village, it felt like a movie set too. In the spirit of performance, my entrée felt like partaking in the conversation, too. His name is Claude. He was delicious.

Le Mékong, Villefranche sur mer

Ok, so I missed a photo of the food at this place. But I hope at this point you can take my word for it: it was spicy, and it was perfect. I had another craving for sriracha, unsurprisingly absent in French cuisine, but a sure thing at a this Vietnamese restaurant. When you're tired of boeuf and crème, this place will surely add a little variety.

Harmonie, La Taverne Provençale, Gourdon

Truite aux Amandes, La Taverne Provençale, Gourdon

It was this tavern that truly sparked my interest in whole fish after a friend's mom explained to me how to properly debone a fish. Nothing beats fresh fish. They even smile bigger. Side note: why do the french always peel their potatoes?

austin happy hour tour: el alma

The happy hour specials at El Alma were a welcome surprise. Heavy on the food options, but the drinks are nothing to scoff at. The bright interior is punctuated by a refreshing, and potent, margarita ($6) -- frozen options available. I hear their patio is lovely, however, it's August.  Come fall, I'm coming back.  And John's sangria ($5). That sangria. Let's just say there's more than just wine in there. Both bebidas definitely going on the 'best of' lists. We cut the robust drinks with the Queso Blanco y Roja ($6) and the Shrimp Chelada ($8), and we could have stopped there.  Needless to say, the following dinner was delicious, however, the deal that is the El Alma happy hour wholly eclipsed the entrées.

El Alma -- Happy Hour: Everyday 3-6

1025 Barton Springs Rd, Austin, TX 78704

Happy Hour Menu

home

Don't get me wrong: the heat is killing me. I miss the temperate Côte d'Azur like I missed my kitchen. And I really, really missed my kitchen. 

 Ratatouille Tart

 Ratatouille Tart with Truffle oil

Texas Red Snapper 

Pilaf Stuffed Flounder

I'm terrible at following recipes.  With most of this stuff I was just winging it. I fell in love with truffle in France, so I've been putting it on everything. But some in the family hate it, so it is optional. Here's my Ratatouille Tart.

Ratatouille Tart with Herb and Garlic Crust

Herb and Garlic Crust:

- Grab herbs. I recently decided having an herb garden was an imperative. I'm starting with mint, basil, and thyme, which are all doing very well despite the weather. Just remember to water.  A lot. Right.  Grab herbs. I just used some of the thyme and basil, but other recipes add rosemary or tarragon as well.

-Grab 1 clove garlic.

-Pulse garlic and herbs in food processor until, well, until tiny and edible-sized.

-Add herbs to your standard tart crust recipe (might I suggest this one, but needs more salt) in the flour phase. (If you have a food processor, use it. I just got a Breville food processor.  Life.  Changing.)

-There's this whole thing with tart crusts and blind baking, and I hate it, so I didn't do it, and the bottom of my tart was a little flimsy.  So if you don't mind blind baking and know how to do it, have at it before adding the filling yummy stuff.

Tart filling:

-I have been in love with Smitten Kitchen's Ratatouille's Ratatouille for a while now.  This is a twist on that.

-Slice some zuchinni, yellow squash, and eggplant with a mandoline (or a knife, you poor soul). 

-Pulse red pepper, red onion, garlic, salt, pepper (heck, throw in some more thyme if that's your thing, it sure is mine) in a food processor until super tiny. You can maybe even make it a paste? I'll try that next time.

-Spread red pepper mixture in bottom of tart pan. Arrange sliced veggies on top. Drizzle olive oil on top. (If truffle is your thing, drizzle truffle oil instead). Sprinkle salt and thyme to taste, I add black pepper, but not a necessity.

-Cut parchment paper to fit over top.

-Cook at 375˚ for 40-45 min. (I didn't do this, hence the 'just winging it', but it seems like a good idea, just watch to make sure it doesn't burn).

-Serve with chèvre and white wine. I'm a big fan of the Masi Masianco or anything from La Crema.

hawaiian wedding song

Music comes in and out of my life.  J'admets, I have terrible, terrible taste.  But sometimes, something marvelous does stumble through and leaves me empty when it goes. Joe Tex, These Taming Blues.

The internet is an endless source of sheet music, but sometimes the collection, the dusty book, the weight of the page, the notes from the previous owner are invaluable insights to the piece itself.  Si tu vois ma mère.  I never wandered at half-price.  At the second hand book store, I knew the only section I wanted.  I would go straight for the sheet music in hopes that like me, there were other musicians who plucked through a book, tired, and donated it.  I never mastered anything.

For me, it was more the translation.  The idea that black glyphs on a page could mean something else.  It's a melody, yes.  But more importantly, it was time travel.  Bushwick Blues.  A communication between centuries.  An ancient artist crying out 'this is how I feel.'

I do remember the first time I 'read' a piece.  Skimming the shelves I picked out a Chopin compilation (I recognized the name, why else?) and opened to a random page, the prelude section.  Unfortunately, the titles usually mean nothing to me.  Prelude in E minor.  Something about the shape seemed familiar.  I wasn't sure, but something reminded me of 'The Notebook' (my terrible taste illustrates itself in many forms) so I took it home. Wait So Long.

And that was it.  When Ally plays the cobwebbed baby grand for Noah in what would later be their family home.  I found it.  From the page.  And I played it over, and over, reveling in my discovery.

Take Me Home, Country Roads.  Chopin is a genius hands down, but at the time, j'était tellement naive. I found many beauties from that book.  Another first was when I read Nocturne in E flat major.  Over and over, it left me numb in my place.  I butchered the it repeatedly, translating this masterpiece broken Chopinish, and Chopin didn't care. 

But music still comes into my life and then it leaves.  This nocturne recently returned to me through a Mad Men episode and again left with the credits.  It tore me apart and mended me again in about 3 minutes.  I never feel an ache for music.  It's more like sharp incision.  Everlasting Light.  A delicate and precise maneuver for which I am always unprepared that leaves me faint and dizzy in a hallway.  

All of my friends are artists.  They always have been, it's been in they're blood.  I am not.  Et il me tue.  I want to create something, not just read it.  I want to have that tick.  That passion.  Immer, toujours, always too many 'I's.  I can submit to a melody, give in to the aria, but I am still searching, yearning for the drive.  Born on the Bayou.  I am surrounded by beautiful individuals who know exactly what they want, what they are good at, what they want to contribute to the world.  As a typical early 20 something, I don't.  But that is the last thing I've ever wanted to be.  Typisch.  You could say I am passionate about having a passion, but that's about it.

Chopin is my translator.  He gets me.  Dead Sea.  But sometimes I go on vacation and he can't come.  Hopefully you understand me, mon ami.

erwachen 2010

 For the apathetic, the news is broadcast in a foreign language.  It sounds like English, one understands the individual words, but as a whole, the discourse of the broadcasters, journalists, and pundits is utterly incomprehensible. I used to be a member of this listless mob, pretending the world didn’t exist outside of my small, cozy, familiar sphere.  On the rare occasions where I felt particularly worldly, I would catch a clip of current events, only to be washed with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment and helplessness and return to my previous comatose subjection to the tube.  I didn’t care.  I couldn’t.  I’d never been able to make up my mind or formulate opinions about the controversial subjects that prompt clear, impassioned partisanship and dominate government; who was I to make those momentous decisions? I was lost in the disinterested void of society.  But I was only one of many so it didn’t really matter; it was the job of others to change the world.

Disguised on the comedy network as a parody of news-broadcasting culture, Jon Stewart decoded the babble that was the news and woke me from my apathetic coma.  The awakening wasn’t immediate.  Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I laughed along with the hyperbolic mocking, sarcasm, and accusation inversion, but there was something more to the jokes, an unnerving sense of reality, an idea of apparent blemishes on our society that few have the initiative to look for and fewer the willingness to see.  I had believed in the fixed state of society, but he was poking holes in the system.  What I believed was inalterable, he deemed unfit and ripe for fundamental modifications.  He appealed for citizen participation in a system dependent on social input and indignant demand for a government benefitting all tiers of society; though it didn’t appear that way. It was an extremely clever front.

Comedy was his cloak and awareness his mantra.  Stewart’s comical charade occupied the front defenses of my mind, allowing his true intent, analysis and reason, to flank the unsuspecting legions and take hold of the fortress.  Other news channels’ tactics were much less effective, merely assaulting the center, the strongest point in the line of defense, by bombarding with partisan-tainted-passions and out of context facts, ignoring my virtually indestructible wall of indifference.  Comedy skirts this wall and ingrains the broader concepts in the naïve audience.  As a persuasive army, laughter is irrefutably more efficient than any combination of ethos, pathos, or logos could ever be.  As a language, comedy is universally understood, regardless of insight, passion, or predisposition towards the world.

While avoiding an anarchist label, Stewart calls for the questioning of authority and banishment of indifference.  Our government was built to be inherently changeable, but it takes initiative and passion to mold.  He calls for attention to a lethargic society, to awaken the populous and impact an imperfect world.  As an awake and animated citizen, I can make an impact.  Instead of being engulfed with despair from societal imperfections, I feel empowered.  I do care.  I want to learn the language of the news, to decipher the worldly significance of current events.  I can make decisions on the controversies that politicians run on and define the laws which I will have to live by.  I am one of many.  But everyone is one of many, and together we are immense.  Together, it is our job to change the world.

du vin

For as much of the stuff as I consume, I should really know more about wine...but isn't that label just beautiful?

I must confess.  Est-ce que je peux avoir confiance en vous? I'm a fake.  To me, almost all wine is the same.  I cannot pick out the lingering smoke, the burst of pencil shavings or dirt (yes, all actually used to describe a wine, no, I do not know what dirt tastes like, thanks).

I guess I classify wines like tax brackets.  <$10: wanna get drunk with friends who don't appreciate wine.  $10-$15: very hidden gems, but I like the chase (and the price). $15-$25: oh you fancy, huh.  $25-$50: showing off.  $50-$100: ouais, je comprends maintenant... $100-$175: ich kann das nicht glauben. +$175: yep, all the same again.

In all honesty, I pick the label, not the wine.  Sure I know my preferred région, but what would really make my 1€ pasta, canned tomato sauce, out of season salad, and half a delicious bannette look even better? Tonight, it was the vintage 2010 Château VERNOU.  A splurge at 8.95€ .


A whole more than the sum of its parts.