Caesar salad always came with a caveat.
No anchovies, please.
And if they were part of the dressing, well, there goes that. There’s always caprese.
So having not ever come within fork’s distance of an anchovy in my entire life, I nonetheless absorbed my mother’s strong aversion to the slimy, hairy fish and decided that I too would never, ever eat it. Because ew. So gross. Continue reading “anchovies and adulthood”
Trays of lukewarm pasta sat on the counter, with the once pillowy ricotta and creamy mozzarella slowly solidifying around the mangled ziti. Day-old ciabatta sat on a cutting board, crumbs strewn about, with a half-eaten plate of chicken marsala resting on the stovetop — crimini mushrooms trapped in the now congealed sauce. Continue reading “on cooking through grief”
The first time I heard the word, “ratatouille,” I was 14 years old and sitting on a cushioned movie theater seat, snug between my mom and my sister, watching the rat Remy come to life as an ambitious Parisian chef. I chose gummy bears and my sister, popcorn, and we sat next to each other to pass the snacks back and forth, enjoying the salty crunchiness of the popcorn and sweet chewiness of the candy.
Other than the hour or so of Pixar-animated entertainment, the movie didn’t make much of an impression on my young-teen mind. In fact, I barely thought about the story or the food again until six years had passed and I was sitting on a wobbly, white plastic stool in a tiny kitchen in Paris. Continue reading “when words failed, ratatouille didn’t”
Pops of juicy blueberries meet fragrant rosemary, tangy citrus, and sweet honey for a less indulgent but equally as delicious scone. Continue reading “blueberry spelt scones with rosemary and lemon”
It’s not everyday that you get to step away from your desk to unwind and enjoy a balanced, wholesome lunch.
Chloe Vichot is on a mission to change that with the opening of her new restaurant, Ancolie.
Continue reading “a taste of Ancolie, featuring mindful eating, French-inspired flavors, and sustainability”
When I was in France, I experimented with a whole slew of root vegetables. Turnips, celeriac, parsnips, black radishes — you name it, I roasted it.
I also ate my fair share of beets, a nutrient-dense vegetable from the same botanical family as spinach, Swiss chard, and quinoa. Continue reading “6 ways to eat beets”
If you were to tell me in high school that, after graduating college, I would pack up and move abroad, I would more than likely have laughed in your face. My image of post-graduate life involved hole-in-the-wall NYC apartments and cubicles, not working abroad.
But I suppose life can surprise you when you’d least expect it because, as I write these very words, I’m sitting in an empty apartment in France surrounded by two gigantic suitcases, a boarding pass, and 8 months of pinch-me-this-can’t-be-real kind of experiences.
Continue reading “10 things France has taught me about food”
They say the Provence region of France is blessed by the gods. I’m inclined to agree.
With sun-soaked hillside villages overlooking sweeping lavender fields, olive groves and vineyards, “charming” is certainly an understatement. In fact, I think “enchanting” is more appropriate.
Continue reading “a taste of Provence”
My kitchen here in France is the farthest thing from fancy. It’s an industrial, stainless steel setup complete with two hot plates, a sink, a refrigerator, and a mini oven that looks deceptively like a toaster oven but lacks the ability to toast.
And that’s about it. No microwave to be found.
Of course, I could have purchased one myself, but I spent the first 18 years of my life sans microwave, so the thought never seriously crossed my mind.
Continue reading “Lately on Instagram: no microwave, no problem”