It is heady stuff to hang out with one of the founders of Armadillo World Headquarters (some visual images might help) and talk about France, copyright law, musicians' rights, more France, international TV and film festivals in Cannes, art law, the last live Beatles concert (he was there), the start of Texas music and its future. It is all the more great to have this conversation out in the backyard of Joe's Place, the backyard of which apparently is the Connie's Beer Garden part of this quirky East M.L.K. spot. As much as I love Sophie's foie gras over in Angers, France...standing up in crowded wine bars in Paris meeting Fashion Week journalists...and a perfectly crafted round of goat cheese with a delicate drizzle of fresh olive oil in Peter Mayle's fabled south-of-France place of Ménerbes, France...I really love a good meatloaf. Taking Mike's lead, I did without the mashed potatoes as a side (low carb you know) and got a little salad instead to accompany the green beans and the meatloaf. When the menu said "green beans" came with the meatloaf, I had low expectations. I was more excited about the "Hibiscus Tea Punch" I had ordered. (It's hibiscus tea with ginger ale. And it was suggested that this was not be a bad mixture into which a shot of tequila could be poured...some other day, but great idea Connie!) Connie brings out a bamboo tray to deliver the tea punch. Another bamboo tray would deliver the meatloaf lunch. As soon as I saw those green beans, I knew they were going to be good. (True, I did not ask to forego that bread substance; good thing: I needed it to wipe the plate clean. It was a small, dainty piece of deliciousness -- like those Sister Schubert's rolls.)... Continue reading

It's a smaller-than-I-expected event, this Austin Food and Wine Festival (only in its second year). At first glance on entering I was underwhelmed. But it grew on me. And grew and grew. And now I am thrilled at its manageability and the set-up, despite the pretty awful combination of Saturday's suffocating humidity, quasi-dehydration, and mixing tequila and vodka tastings in between the wine demos. Bad idea that last one. I thought I could do without Day 2. But after sleeping off Saturday's sins, I was ready to go. Pacing is everything for a food and (lots of) wine festival. (Jealous of the folks who got there early for hands-on grilling class. I think I saw someone Tweet that only VIPs were able to get into these popular first-thing-in-the-morning classes.) Day 1 (for me), Saturday, started out well when the heart-stopping telltale colors of Veuve Clicquot were spotted right on entering. Their super cute VC-themed Airstream was air-conditioned, so I lingered a long time checking that out.... Champagne was a great way to start the day...at 11 am or so. Finally we get in line for the H-E-B Grand Tasting Pavilion to open up for the masses. We had only a "cheap" ($200 for early bird special) Taste Pass. But now I know why the cost. There is a LOT of alcohol at this event. A lot of water too have to say. But there is a lot of alcohol at this event. At 12 p.m., folks with the Taste Pass can enter. I need food, badly, after standing in the sun sweating after 3 small tastings of the VC champagne. At first it was hard to find the food. I must have been delerious. But we found it. And dug in. These grilled carrots, with a tangy yogurt sauce drizzled... Continue reading

I just wanted to have another French family dining experience. But even I could not have imagined this French Dinner Party experience would be so formidably elegant, yet so completely casual and warm. A formidable feast it would end up being: melt-in-the-mouth confit de canard; pommes de terres sarladaises (classic side dish for confit de canard: thinly sliced potatoes cooked in the (duck) fat from the duck confit); a salmon tartare with watercress before that, preceded by champagne (the real deal: Veuve Clicquot). But there was more. Way more. To get this experience state-side, I bid enthusiastically at a fundraiser to earn two seats at the dinner table of a French couple, who would prepare and host an authentic French Dinner Party for 8 persons in their home. No way I was missing that. My favorite, most heart-warming, interesting meals in France have been with friends at their homes. For the pre-dinner ritual there were many lovely coupes of Veuve Clicquot. There was a warm and effervescently bright green pea soup in tiny glass tumblers with long sprigs of chives laid across them. There was the ultimate indulgence: foie gras. A heavenly moment of gourmandise. But yet, out of the corner of one's eye, one could not miss, standing out, crying out for attention, over on the enormous white marble kitchen island, a burst of hot pink. That hot pink blast was in fact rows of shocking bright pink and red confections -- raspberry macarons -- set out just so, with a single red rose petal set asymetrically atop each one of them. These would be our desserts. Prepared just for us by a soon-to-be chef/proprietor of a new French patisserie in downtown Austin. (More on that later.) These sassy macarons, Jezebels really, cried out for attention. From every angle... Continue reading

(so misleading...sort of sorry: this picture has nothing to do with sherry. It is from another trip to France, however, to Angers, to check out l'Atoll, a lovely outdoor shopping forum with some super edgy design elements) Some readers may recall, from last April's trip to Paris--that triathlon training/pre-pneumonia trip--that I had an encounter with a certain Tio Pepe. I was in Paris looking for Verjus, for a long-awaited dinner reservation, and wandered in confusion around quirky multi-level, multi-staired streets around the Palais Royal, looking for Verjus, when I came across what I thought was the Verjus Wine Bar. Which I thought would be a good place to while away an hour or so before the dinner reservation. I was wrong -- about it being the Verjus Wine Bar that is. I had stumbled into another (maybe even more perhaps) fabulous wine bar--one with a much longer pedigree in this charming quartier. Juveniles. Unknown to me at the time, but well-known now, it is one of the best wine bars in Paris for some. I asked for something cold and dry to just take the edge off before dinner in an hour or so. What I got was a glass of something cold, crisp and white and bright - just what one wants if one is drinking something white rather than red. This was Tio Pepe, a Spanish dry sherry, fino style. As I am in party-planning mode currently, and though already up to two signature drinks for the evening, I am recalling I just have to add Tio Pepe into the mix. I so agree with Tim League's pronouncement: not your grandma's sherry - in his BADASS Digest in which he includes my dear friend Tio Pepe. (Caveat: It's an older 2011 article and refers to a sherry tasting... Continue reading

For a variety of reasons, sometimes my comfort zone shrinks to below acceptable levels. At times like these, I have to make a conscious effort to do things that make me a little uncomfortable. And so it was that when a certain Saturday rolled around and friends asked me about doing dim sum for lunch, I grimaced inwardly, got annoyed briefly (because they forgot I said once, long ago, that I was not a big fan), and then said: "Ok." I said ok because I had not seen these friends in a while, and that's not a very fine way to answer a weekend lunch invitation, with a childish "oh no, not that." I assuaged my grumpiness by taking advantage of my early arrival to sit and do something I am very comfortable doing: research. I read this article -- among others -- that compared the ritual and tradition of it all to Spanish tapas and, better yet, explained the major groups of dishes I would be seeing on those trolleys. You might say, GM: How can it be that you cannot like dim sum? What can be more delightful than a leisurely Saturday with the charming ritual of servers coming by at warp speed offering an array of dishes in cute little stacked up high bamboo steamers? Well, I will tell you why. First, I cannot eat with chopsticks gracefully. Correction: I cannot eat quickly or efficiently with chopsticks. Dim sum without chopsticks is weird. I feel very dorky, out of place, like everyone is staring at me, when I am jabbing at things with my fork. Even if you resort to a fork, like I do, there is no knife. So I am stuck with cutting those meat things with a spoon and a fork, as well as... Continue reading

It was ironic that I would receive a David Lebovitz blog post called "Champagne, Reims, and Veuve Clicquot" just hours after realizing a faux pas I made on one of my own blog posts. I called a beverage champagne that, in fact, was not champagne at all. I did not know this at the time, as I knew little about the lovely sparkling beverage I had been served. But I should have known, and I could have known, were I not so caught up in the festivities, fun, and self-reflexion and getting too much sun (and wine) too early in the day. The lovely sparkling wine provided for the Austin Angers Music 2013 festivities was this Bouvet Rosé Excellence produced by Bouvet-Labuday, and available in the US through Kobrand Wines and Spirits. Of course, a sparkling wine that one may unthinkingly call "champagne" is not truly "champagne," and in fact may technically not be called that at all unless it comes from a specific region in France -- "Champagne," "one of the great historic provinces of France," as this site explains. So what, you might say. Well, so a lot. There are international trade laws on this topic, and the interplay of international and national and EU laws for regional food specialities is well, pretty darn fascinating. And complicated. My "champagne" error touched on an issue I was (very) lightly researching, on regional laws protecting food as an intellectual property issue. The champagne issue is thick in the middle of this controversial topic in certain circles. Some back story is in order. Recall a few labels you may have seen on your favorite French wine and you might recall the term "AOC." "AOC" is the shorthand version for a French term (though other countries have similar terms, such as Denominacion... Continue reading

(Justine's; part of the hip decor for the Austin Angers SXSW 2013 festivities on 15 mars 2013) It seems like another lifetime long ago in San Angelo, Texas when I would spend hours pouring over glossy magazines such as Metropolitan Home, Vogue, and Elle Decor. My parents in fact blamed my Vogue magazine habit as the reason I harbored such grand illusions as living in Paris and enjoying a refined lifestyle of high-end finishes in everything from travel and clothing and meals to interior design and backyard landscapes. (By then, to be clear, I was already teaching myself French with Berlitz records from the Tom Green County Library.) And all of this was way, way before "foodie" culture took off. I did eventually wander over into Gourmet and Bon Appetit, and then Martha Stewart as she combined all of my favorite high-end visual aesthetics: food, lifestyle, interior/exterior design. I daydreamed about a life full of elegant dinners with happy (well-adjusted, satisfied in their careers and family lives) people, with lots of friends in stylish circumstances amidst some charming vignette or another. E.g., a beachfront dinner with driftwood-colored benches, some votives on a long weathered wood table that someone bought at a yard sale in the Hamptons, elegant wispy thin ladies in Eileen Fisher enjoying carefree and effortless banter with young rugged men slightly and adorably unkempt in faded linen shirts half-way buttoned because they had just nonchalantly tossed on that shirt upon exiting the water from say, an ocean kayak for the short trek over from a neighboring cottage. Yes, I thought all this was so easy to have and to hold, and that indeed it was one's birthright (i.e., mine) upon entering the adult world to enjoy such moments. Of course, I would soon find out life was not... Continue reading

Some three decades+ ago, there were many summers of road trips to New Orleans to visit mom's family. No personal entertainment systems for the kiddos in those days. No TV screens in the back seats, no Walkmans, no nothing. Not even an SUV. This was a family of 5, in a sedan, for like 10 to 12 hours, with my parents smoking in the front seat (this was a very, very long time ago), windows closed, and something like Ray Conniff Jr. and other such "easy listening" or "smooth 'jazz' " on the radio. There would follow weeks of lazy days, driving up and down St. Charles Avenue on the way to Grandmother's house, down to the Quarter, and back up through the Garden District, and lunch here and dinners and snacks there. One of the most vivid memories of those days comprising my childhood food delights, right up there with the nectar sodas at the K&B drugstore on St. Charles Avenue, were the visits to Café du Monde in the Quarter. And of course these visits included several orders of beignets (each order comprising 3 beignets), café au lait for the grown-ups, and those little waxy cartons of chocolate milk for us kids. Sure, getting the beignets hot out of the vats of frying oil, and then biting into them just then when the powdered sugar blended perfectly with that light crust and moist insides, was pretty great. But even more great was another part of this ritual: the powdered sugar food fight. The small saucers onto which the hot beignets were piled were just loaded up with powdered sugar. The servers would get a saucer of the order of beignets, which looked all naked and pitiful without their coating of powdered sugar. Then the servers would vigorously shake... Continue reading

Angers (Austin's sister city in France) had a brainstorm for the music showcases that Angers would bring to SxSW2013, ably assisted by Angers music venue Le Chabada. Why not bring along a French chef as well, a rising star in Angers, and host (French) food events along with the music? Brilliant. Only problems: (1) where to cook the food at a music venue (The Bungalow) that has no kitchen; and (2) where to source in Austin items that are omnipresent in France on a daily basis but not necessarily readily available in Austin. This led to some interesting meetings and networking on the organizers' diligence mission in February 2013, including meeting with Slow Food Austin, and its biodiversity head Valerie Broussard, a trained chef, Francophile, and "forager" over at Trace at the W Hotel. At first I was unclear on the concept of my Angevins friends. I got that the idea that the music showcases would be preceded by a "brunch" by Chef Rémi Fournier, owner of Chez Rémi, a charming restaurant, in Angers. It would be from 10 am to 12 pm, before the music kicked in. I imagined perhaps some pastries. Some sausage. Maybe some eggs. But when I heard that some interesting pork cuts were needed, and that pork blood also was an ingredient they needed (for one of Rémi's specialties, blood sausage, which I tasted in Angers), all of which they quickly had to re-source from another local producer (Sebastien to the rescue!) a week before their arrival in Austin--when the first one fell through--I started to realize there might be more to the meal than link sausage and maybe some pain perdu to stand in for brunch-esque item French Toast. Thursday le 14 mars arrived. This was the long-awaited day of so much advance planning,... Continue reading

As I prepare for real life again on Monday after 8 days of thinking, eating, walking, drinking at this, my first SxSW, I realize I can manage only a brain dump of a summary of the overall experience. A mashup of random meetings and interactions and myriad suggestions and tips that led to the inspiring, the bizarre, and maybe even life-changing people and panels. Memory Lane Stream Of Consciousness Brain Dump (from notes along the way) Baconator attempted at lunch, over and over - oh why oh why is the dual-line system for this and the panky dog and the Cap'n Crunch and cous-cous delicacy SO confusing? Tired and cranky. Give up and try again another day for that pulled pork over slaw and spicy remoulade sauce in a bacon waffle cone. Head to Hackney House our East London connection with tech community; will backdoor into Angers somehow for technology enterprises and JVs, etc. etc. Follow up to follow. Those Hackney House folks' sccents adorable. Cannot understand them. Back to Interactive. New to me buzzwords: market pane - huh? Oh: "market pain." Ergo SIRI: SIRI invented to diminish multiple steps/touches to web-searching that resulted in loss of users to get to transactional state (money/purchase). So true. I give up after couple of clicks/touches. 3-D printing is not weird printing fad to use and then look at through 3-D glasses but radical iteration of the first Industrial Revolution: e.g. I decide I need a pair of yellow flip flips or a toy figure of my own imagination and bam the Bre Pettis Makerbot can make that. THAT is 3-D "printing." Elon Musk...spectacular biceps -- flash: recall is TESLA guy and PayPal guy. SpaceX kind of mind-blowing: get it takes cool calm brilliance - arrogance? - to say we should go to... Continue reading

Those of us of a certain age remember Jeffrey's, and its sidekick Clarksville Cafe right next door (which was always my favorite one, with those stunning Malou Flato tile murals). They were, for a time, the only good and/or interesting places to eat in Austin. Except for the great parties my University of Texas grad school Latin American Studies crowd had at Melissa's house. Fast forward two decades. Explosion. Hard to keep up with what has opened - and what has closed. A business meeting was scheduled for today. At Josephine House, just barely open for business (as of 4 weeks ago). It is right around the corner from the hallowed ground of Jeffrey's/Clarksville Cafe. (Clarksville long gone from this location; Jeffrey's is getting a much needed complete revamp and is closed for now). Sure, I thought épicerie on my first visit was pretty awesome, thematically and architecturally, and even a little envy-inspiring. But this, this Josephine House. I just want to pick it all up, with its huge oversized white-washed rustic wood boards, its original windows and black venetian blinds, its outdoor fireplace, banquette seating, the chairs, the white marble bar and countertops, and take it all home with me as my own little party pavilion in the back yard. Or on the banks of the Blanco River. Or somewhere in the Vaucluse. I walked in and just repeated over and over. To the cook in the back in the kitchen, to the hostess: "It's just so darn cute. I can't get over it. It is just too cute." Outside has seating, casually scattered interesting wicker chairs. Off to the side: a deck, a vintage (looks like) wood picnic table with iron legs, a nice and warm (cold day when the wind kicked up) outdoor fireplace used for cooking... Continue reading

"French," as in French food, is a complex term to define these days. Paris would be, one might assume, full of "French" restaurants just as a matter of fact of being located in France, that lovely and charming but complex Hexagone of gastronomic glory. But when some of Paris's best restaurants these days are run by Americans (i.e., much beloved Verjus, as reported in Saveur and here), deciding what counts as "French"--especially in terms of dining in Austin, Texas--is tricky. In the end it just requires getting ok with very subjective parameters, and so it is for this Guide. All my baggage (the French major thing, the living/going to school-in-France thing, the 17 trips to France for food and other business reasons) informs what I considered "French enough" for this Guide. Do I love Lenoir with all my heart? Absolutely. Does Lenoir remind me of Paris dining (i.e., Verjus) with its dynamic culinary duo owners and emphasis on community and exquisite nicely portioned food and service? Absolutely. But if I include it here, it's a slippery slope and possibly quite divisive and controversial for what else gets included -- like whom to invite to a wedding once you've invited so and so. I may well have missed some very arguably "French" treasures. Feel free to debate any difference of opinion or offer a discerning critique. That is, after all, very French. Justine's Brasserie First there was Chez Nous (see entry below after this one), a much-loved Austin icon for truly "French" French food. Then Justine's came along in 2009 and really kicked up the French vibe in Austin. Though off the beaten track for some out on East Fifth towards the airport, Justine's has a passionate following for this little white house, surrounded by ample courtyard/patio seating. (credit for picture... Continue reading

In the mad dash to check out all the "French" food venues I could for the AFBA on line City Guide 2013, I had to quickly check out a tip I received for Melvin's. I heard their Croque Monsieur had been written up as something spectacular. As Melvin's is a happy bright red trailer located at 53rd and Duval, I figured leaving at 11h30 from my house would allow me get me there, score this croque monsieur, and get to French class for noon. Time is of the essence now to visit these spots before my write-up is due. And Melvin's is only open from 11 to 2, Monday through Friday. Let us consider for a moment the croque monsieur. It is, at bottom, a ham and cheese sandwich. It is omnipresent in France, a staple among basic cafe fare items. If one is hungry for quick but filling sustenance after walking along the Seine, up to the Quai Branly and down to l'Institut du Monde Arabe, back up the Right Bank to the Louvre, Place de la Concorde, sighing wistfully for hours, a croque monsieur hits the spot. And it's hard to get it wrong. Or so you would think. Having spent many hours working up an appetite in walking up and down the Seine over the last three decades, I have had a fair number of very mediocre croques monsieurs. There are many things that can go wrong on it: not broiling it enough to make it nice and hot; not having enough Bechamel sauce and cheese on top to make it bubbly and golden brown and crusty crispy; lackluster innards, i.e., bland cheese (rather than a great gruyere) and/or benign ham, like just a thin slice of ham, obviously pulled up out of a plastic package. The... Continue reading

I have been thinking much these past few days on Valentine's Day: specifically, the fact that the romantic dinner is so the thing to do on Valentine's Day with a Significant Other a/k/a boyfriend or girlfriend, and the angst that this ritual can pose to the outsiders, those in a rut of singlehood, and to even the most seemingly successful, together, and hip of single women. The day is just a big in-your-face reminder that, yes, you're on your own - go get your own flowers and artisanal chocolate - and you're, yes, in a state of being that is contrary to the societal inclinations toward considering "normal" as the couple and not the Table for One person. (Spread at Mollie's Annual Pink Tea) For many years, this holiday, or whatever it is, conjured up for me about the same level of warm fuzzies as do memories of P.E. class at my small Catholic grade school and my being inevitably among the last dregs of the class to be picked for whatever awesome team sport was on tap for that day. (To this day just hearing "dodge ball" makes me flinch.) But this year is different. I wonder what on earth I would actually want from a beloved Significant Other, if I had one, on such a day. I realize I don't know. If I don't know, I wonder how on earth a guy in this equation is supposed to know. (As it seems to me, again from observation only, that it is typically the female in the equation that has the expectations about this day along the same lines as daydreams about the gorgeous trimmings of The Wedding Day and the Dress but not so much the realities of Marriage.) I guess the ideal is that the SO would... Continue reading

Thanks to a kind, on-the-ball ticketing agent at Reagan National Airport, I scored a seat on an earlier flight back to Texas. This was good news and bad news. Good news because if I caught the next leg of the trip, Houston to Austin, based on risky stand-by status, I'd get in two hours earlier ending three days of hotel living and working. The bad news was that this really messed up what and how I would eat that day. With memories of perhaps one of the most expected yummiest meals ever - at Zaytinya (Greek, Lebanese, Turkish small plates) - I had a feeling this would be a very different food day. So why not make the best, or worst, of it. If I did make stand-by, there would be no time to eat. I had been subsisting on protein bars mostly while in D.C., better get something on the plane. Mary-Kate and Ashley needed to be tended to while this 10-days-old Parisian cold lingered on top of no real sleep while in D.C. (M-K & A is my code name for flawed adrenal system I've been working on improving: think back on their dark, goth, pale, about-to-fall-over-if-a-mild-breeze-came-by selves - yep, that's what the old non-operative adrenal system felt like before I found wise miracle worker Eleanor McCulley at Austin 3-D Health). And so it was that I made a reluctant foray into those purchased "snacks" on United Airlines. I went for the Tapas Box. Seemed fairly healthy. Roasted red peppers, almonds, hummus, pita chips. With the UT Food Lab's Food, the City, and Innovation Conference from just a few days earlier fresh on my mind, I immediately silently gasped in horror at the amount of packaging that went into this item: a box, yes. But plastic wrapped around... Continue reading

I got back from France on Tuesday, with what I have taken to calling "my Parisian cold," crammed in the work, and made it to the Food, the City, and Innovation Conference at UT (specifically, The Food Lab at UT) this past Friday/Saturday. In fact, that trip to France was compelled for many reasons, but primarily for getting up-to-date intel on what the France start-up scene looks like in the food systems sector. Not just so I can be a part of that dialogue as well and connect us with the innovations over there, but also to figure out which one of the many ill-fitting, half-made hats I am trying on these days -- putative food entrepreneur, food system critic/problem-solver to entrepreneurs -- suits me best. Between the head cold, the work, the brain-smashingingly awesome new jargon I learned (e.g., "hyper-local" and "restorative ecosystems" and "food system resiliency" and "bio-economy") that infuses the debate about local, sustainable, urban agriculture, by the time Friday night's dinner rolled around I was doing good just to get myself there. I had no idea what it was that I had purchased a ticket for months earlier. But someone had come all the way from Delaware just to see her friend, Molly O'Neill, run this show. I started to take it all a bit seriously. All I knew was the space was gorgeous. We were there early, Melissa and I, to be almost first in line at the bar (tequila tasting, etc. and an actually pretty darn good Texas wine) and take in what this place, this thing was going to be. As in many, many things, I was starting to learn that I am a little late to the party on this food systems stuff. Yet I come at it from such a different... Continue reading

I have been stalking Frenchie, one of the most sought-after reservations in Paris, for some time. And then, after months of attempting, a friend in Paris gets me a reservation weeks before my trip. I am agog. I look forward to this - for all those weeks - to Thursday night, January 24, at 19h. Yea, I made it there. Barely. But because of something like a stomach flu that morning, I was not in prime form. Indeed, I could not eat the main course at all, and barely held it to gether to take a stab at the beautiful entree. Yes, after all that anticipation and longing and yearning. The best laid plans...just sometimes are not the best thing at all. Instead, I prefer to look at the Frenchie bust amidst some amazingly unexpected and wonderful food events here. First: the invitation of faculty at the University of Angers to sit in on the high-end intense wine-tasting class - and, even better, lunch with the gastronomy faculty, including Olivier Etcheverria and Jean-Rene Morice, and the well-known sommelier/wine professor/professional, Jean-Michel Monnier, also on the faculty, Although the chemistry of wine, aromas - and the physiology of taste through the nose and mouth were heady stuff, especially in French - I may have grasped, for the first time, just how one can actually start to discern the many layers of nuance in a wine. Once you learn to taste and experience, all of that starts to come to light. Lunch with this group, discussing gastronomy, agriculture, tourism/economic development - and how it works with Austin's food scene - totally unexpected. Totally fortuitous. Much good work and dialogue to come in the realm of Austin-Angers connections. Second, the surprise of such an unassuming facade, for such a tiny footprint of a storefront... Continue reading

Would you be interested in, for example: Going on a market visit/tour with him as he shops at local Austin markets for the dinners he will prep during SxSW? Learning about how French cooking and the French restaurant scene is evolving and comparing that journey to Austin's journey to becoming more of a foodie paradise? Attending casual, informative wine-tastings with him to learn about some of the fantastic regional wines that Austin's sister city Angers (i.e., the region around there) has to offer and that we would typically never see or taste in an Austin restaurant -- or any Texas restaurant or wine bar for that matter? Enjoy some small tastings and chat with him about why or how or whether the US (and Austin) (or their idealized mythical impressions) hold some sway in the French psyche and imagination (and vice versa)? This could all happen - just brainstorming here. Send me your thoughts about how this sounds - or what else you might be interested in - and we'll see about making it happen during SxSW and let you know about time, place, etc. Continue reading

I was delighted to get the chance to eat with the family again. Amazing leftovers on the last Sunday night supper with them a few months ago. But this Sunday night was very different. They still called it a simple dinner....Here are the courses, in the order in which they were served. Cream of Pumpkin Soup. With an extra dose of awesomeness: slices of foie gras, which we were told to place at the bottom of the bowls into which our pumpkin soup was then ladled. This was, um, very tasty. Salade. With the "house" sauce - the balsamic vinaigrette they make up regularly and always have at the ready in a glass jar for serving. Homemade Quiche. Imagine an enormous ceramic quiche dish, the size of a small wagon wheel, or so it seemed. And two of such vessels for the quiche(s): This was dinner for 12+ after all. One type of quiche was not enough for Matriarch (and superb cook) Anne apparently. She made two, each with a superb buttery homemade crust, one a cheese quiche; the other a leek and goat cheese quiche. One slice of each was served to each of us. (Whew, because I was going to be hard-pressed to pick which one I wanted.) Cheese. Anne announced that because there was cheese in the quiche, she was not planning to serve cheese...(so reasonable and moderate these French), but would anyone want a little taste of cheese? She looks over at me. I look at her. I really want some cheese. The cheese here is no doubt, again tonight, from master cheese vendor Laurent Dubois. Liz, would you like some? Well, okay, maybe just a taste. They were raving about this particular goat cheese after all. And the wine that night, a nice Bordeaux, yes,... Continue reading

It had been a great food day already. I did not need much else. I considered a simple goat cheese tartine, on Poilane bread, at Le Pick Clops, a favorite from long, long time ago trips to Paris. I settled in at the bar at Le Pick Clops for an aperitif and some of the popcorn they were serving therewith. With the Michael Jackson tunes going (Pretty Young Thing, Beat It...), and the place bubbling over with activity when outside was bitter cold, it seemed right to stay all night. But the unwelcome conversation from someone next to me, about trash pick-up services in Nantes, Paris, Lille and Toulouse, finally got the best of me. In what I thought could be a flash of inspiration (after two small glasses of red wine), I decided to brave the hot dog stand there on the rue Vieille du Temple. There was a line after all. How bad could it be? .... I see they have a Tex-Mex version. Chile con carne. I order it, saying I'd like to check that out as there is a fair amount of Tex-Mex in my part of Tex. I started to be a little afraid though, so asked the proprietor what the most popular hot dog is. He said people mostly go for the "onion confit." Well, I'll take that instead then. And when he showed me the "chile con carne" I was glad I made that call. The "chile" was just black beans and corn. I ask him how popular the place is, who the clientele is. He was a little evasive. I get the hot dog. Now, I am not a big fan of hot dogs. But the last one I had was awesome. Grilled outside on an open fire on a beach, with... Continue reading

I read a lot about Paris. Food, restaurant, wine bar reviews. But I know enough from flawed experiences that someone else's good review and experience may not be mine. It was with optimistic anticipation that I nevertheless headed to l'Avant Comptoir yesterday, a wine bar, for a quick re-fueling after 6 a.m. Paris arrival at CDG, RER trip into the city, coffee with my hosts--where we discussed the U.S. jury system and the purview of the judge and jury in questions of law and fact--and a five-hour nap. The obvious choice was to use the first of the limited, not already-booked nights in Paris to try the Verjus wine bar. The restaurant, yes, sublime experience in April, but need to get in and try that wine bar my fav food writers love so much. Closed. What now. Paris by Mouth's list of wine bars, by arrondissement, comes in handy. If I am not walking all the way to Palais Royal in the bitter cold, I should try a new place that is close. L'Avant Comptoir, already on the list I always keep in my head (when my post-45 ailing memory can recall the list), is on their list. Done. It is a short walk away, over at the Carrefour de l'Odeon. Straight shot down Boulevard St. Germain. Enter. Let's see what this is all about. Unassuming at first. A group of young 'uns from a country in Asia is placing a large order for crepes and gauffres (waffles). I ask them, after politely waiting and studying the food items signage hanging from the ceiling, if they are waiting for wine. (When I am hungry, and food/wine is just right there, I do not mince words). They were not. I squeeze by and settle in at the counter (the "comptoir") and... Continue reading

On a recent Saturday full of promise and me full of inner peace, with the house under control and work seemingly at bay for the moment, it seemed idyllic to pretend for a moment that I had not a care in the world and to head to Antonelli's and secure a fantastic loaf of bread. As if I were hosting a party on the beachfront or something and needed to get going making the sandwiches (a la Ina Garten here). At the time, I had in my mind to make French Onion Soup over the weekend, as winter would be descending again imminently here in Austin. I was on a roll at home with the son. He loved the haricots verts with garlic and butter (okay loved maybe not the right word: he ate them; pretty strong endorsement there), the halibut another night, and then the wild salmon. Things were on the up and up in foodie-training terms. Indulging in the fantasy that the son would actually eat French Onion soup, I noted to myself that I would need (good) bread and an appropriate fromage: Gruyere or Comte. Ergo the trip to Antonelli's. I was in a Gruyere mood. Maybe because of the imminent winter weather. Comte seems more like a fantastic favorite cheese for any time of year. Gruyere makes me think of Switzerland, raclette, an ill-fated skiing adventure during my Junior Year in France for a short holiday spent in Sion, Switzerland with accomplished skiing friends, and cortisone shots for knee injury when back in Paris. Ergo, gruyere makes me think of winter. I was very restrained at Antonelli's. I purchased only the one cheese. And only the one bread. And I almost left with just that. But no. They have there, as you linger there at the... Continue reading

Back in the day, when I had my season ticket for one (1) for the Houston Grand Opera, the fact of having a season ticket compelled me to make huge efforts to get to that opera I had already paid for. Because of that season ticket, I saw not only the amazing Cecilia Bartoli in Cenerentola, but also pretty random, obscure operas. Like Gertrade Stein's Four Saints in Three Acts. Never ever would have gone to that, even if I am a literary Paris 1920s groupie. Result: Loved it. Quirky, weird. Visually stunning when the HGO did it. And so it is going to be true, I see already, with my subscription to the Greenling organic produce home delivery service. I will be meeting a founder of La Ruche qui dit oui when in Paris here soon, an organic, fresh produce delivery service in France, so it seemed right that I needed to get down to the business of getting familiar with the organic farm-fresh produce delivery situation here in Austin. I signed up for the service over lunch last week at Second. No brainer I wanted the "Local Box." No substitutions: just picks of what's best that week from local-ish farms. And a delivery every two weeks. Once a week is no bueno with just me and the son. My first box, crate, or bin, rather, arrived. But not until like almost 8 p.m. on the one of two delivery days that I chose. The experience so far: Pretty easy interface for the website. I was on the tiny iPhone; as I am over 45, and having increadingly difficult time navigating that tiny wondrous phone/computer to do intensive data entry, the fact that even I was able to do it says something. The delivery experience/presentation. I am not sure... Continue reading

There is nothing quite like a hunting expedition to get one back to nature and thinking about the food production cycle. Here in the so-called (but fondly labeled) granola-like People's Republic of Texas community that is Austin, which I love, there is not much talk of hunting in my neck of these woods. There has been as part of recent gun control debates, yes, and it is here in this climate that it just never came up for me to mention that my son shot his first deer over Thanksgiving - a nice 8-point buck. I get the sense that talking about such things around here might be a little inappropriate politically, so I said nothing about it until recently. (As he also was the only one in our group to catch a fish on the family fishing expedition in Galveston over the summer, which fish we thoroughly enjoyed for dinner soon thereafter, I am thinking I want him on my team when it comes to some outdoor survival situation.) Truth to tell though, I grew up around all this. Grew up hearing about deer leases and quail and dove hunts. Grew up seeing the freezer full of plastic bags with tiny little birds (quail). Hunting - and guns - were all part of this. When I lived in France in that idyllic Junior Year in France time, my host family in the pre-Paris phase, in Tours, took me out with them to their country home. Out around all the hunting dogs. And around all the guys setting out on foot with their hunting rifles. Or whatever they were. All I remember are the adorable dogs, dozens of them, and being relegated to a small bicycle to keep up that had my knees up into my chest. In terms of... Continue reading

I had the illogical compulsion in this holiday party/holiday get-together season to get in a dinner at Lenoir before Christmas. Maybe because the last (and first) time I went, I vowed I would go once or twice a month. At least. Or maybe it is because the Paris/France trip is looming, and my France longing is in full swing, and Lenoir reminds me of Verjus and Paris. And now suddenly it is a few months later and no second time, much less a third or fourth time, for a return trip to Lenoir for that long-ago promise. We know how these things go. So I made the reservation. Couple of noteworthy points for that recent visit. 1. Service here is as service should be. (We had Clinton helping us out.) That is to say, it is more French than what we sort of think is ok and expected in the USA. By that I mean there is no intrusive frequent slew of inquiries into how is everything. Instead, there is the just right amount of ensuring all is well and the just right amount of attentiveness and intuitiveness to know when something might be needed. Compare with Freedmen's from the Thursday night mescal cocktail night (was a rough week), and the 3-4 persons who each made a round about every 5 minutes to interrupt and ask how things were for us, while I was busy solving the week's problems with a friend. I like the place, really, but brilliant streams of consciousness over the great cocktail were interrupted far too often for my 47-year-old brain to get back to that stream after assuring everyone several times that everything was fine. (Sort of cute in the over-eagerness. Loved the smoked turkey though.) 2. Back to Lenoir. I liked everything we had.... Continue reading