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Meat? At the fish market?

Last August, I happened to be in Bergen, in Norway. As it apparently rains a lot in Bergen, I was lucky to enjoy one of the 30 days or so of sunshine to be had there every year. After a guided walk of the city, I ended up at its quite spectacular fish market. Apart from the chunky Norwegian knitwear and the “anything-and-everything-reindeer stalls” (including pâté, surprisingly good), the bulk of the market is devoted to the products of the sea.

The first thing that caught my eye was a big tank where gigantic crustaceans were swimming. I enquired and was told that they were king crabs. You can buy the whole beast, but every stall sells the legs separately, most over a metre long and 3 fingers wide, truly spectacular. They are also widely available, as apparently a veritable army of them is on the march down the coast from Russia and the Arctic Circle.

Alongside the king crabs, salmon is sold under all sorts of guises: fresh, smoked, cured, with and without flavourings, it’s all there. There is also an incredible wide choice of fish and shellfish available, of course. What pleased me even more, as it was lunchtime, was that you could take a seat behind almost any stall and order lunch. A superb prawn and king crab sandwich caught my eye and was devoured, but I could have had a seafood platter or freshly cooked mussels instead.

After lunch, I noticed dark, almost black, slabs of fish I had not seen before. I had to ask, as I truly didn’t recognise them, and was told something I was not ready for. They were slices of whale meat. Sold in chunks the size of a tuna steaks, but double the thickness of one, it is, I am told, a delicacy, despite its hefty price.

Whatever your views on the presence of whale meat at the market, there it was, as undeniably Norwegian as the rest of it. And yet, I loved every minute I spent there.

DE LA VIANDE AU MARCHÉ AUX POISSONS

On est en août dernier, et je suis à Bergen, en Norvège. Comme il y pleut apparemment très souvent, j’ai la chance de profiter d’une des 30 journées ensoleillées annuelles. Après une visite guidée à pied de la ville, je me retrouve au spectaculaire marché aux poissons. A part les épais tricots norvégiens et les éventaires “le-renne-à-tous-les-goûts” (y compris du pâté, bizarrement délicieux), le plus gros du marché est dévoué aux produits de la mer.

La première chose qui attire mon attention est un aquarium de belle taille où nagent des crustacés gigantesques. Des crabes royaux, me dit-on. Vous pouvez acheter la bête entière, mais également les pinces en pièces détachées, la plupart longues de plus d’un mètre et épaisses comme trois doigts, tout simplement impressionnantes. Et on n’en manque pas, car apparemment une veritable armée est en marche vers le sud, depuis la Russie et le cercle polaire.

A côté des crabes royaux, le saumon est en vente sous toutes ses guises: frais, fumé, en saumure, avec ou sans parfum, vous le trouverez ici. Bien sûr, il y a aussi un choix incroyable de poissons et fruits de mer. Ce qui me fait encore plus plaisir, vu qu’il est l’heure du déjeuner, c’est que vous pouvez vous asseoir derrière chaque éventaire et commander votre déjeuner. Je choisis et dévore avec appétit un énorme sandwich au crabe royal et aux crevettes, mais j’aurais pu tout aussi bien choisir des moules ou un plateau de fruits de mer.

Ça n’est qu’après mon déjeuner que je remarque des morceaux de poisson presque noirs. La curiosité me pousse à demander ce que c’est, mais je ne suis pas vraiment prêt à entendre la réponse: de la viande de baleine. Vendue en tranches comme le thon, mais deux fois plus épaisses, il s’agit bien là, m’a-t-on assuré, d’un mets délicat très apprécié, malgré son prix élevé.

Qu’on approuve ou pas, elle est bien là, devant moi, indéniablement norvégienne, comme le reste des produits sur le marché. Et vous savez quoi, j’ai apprécié chaque minute passée au marché aux poisson, et à la viande, de Bergen.

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Charcuterie Heaven

I have discovered a piece of Heaven on Earth. Well, only if, like me, you are keen on cured meat, or charcuterie. Hidden away in the heart of Islington, away from the hustle and bustle of the high street, is an artisanal charcuterie, Cured on Cobble Lane (N1 1SF). Started by three enthusiastic butchers, Adam Brudnowski, Matt Atkinson and Matt Hill, it produces exquisite handmade products.

On the day of my visit, Adam explained with great passion the processes involved in the creation of their cured meats while I gazed at the hanging hams and salamis in their climate-controlled maturation room. We then tasted delicious bresaola, cured beef that I have since then used as a starter, wrapped around celeriac remoulade, doctored à la Arnaud, of course. I also purchased some sopressatta, a delicious saucisson perfumed with three types of red chilies and a delicious rosemary and celery seeds saucisson. Its cousin, with garlic and fennel seeds was available and I will be sure to return for some of that very soon.

So if you are ever on Upper Street, in Islington, go visit the boys in their tucked-away corner of paradise. If you fancy something different for your next party, I can promise you that you will find it there. And if it is good enough for Jamie Oliver, it is good enough for me.

LE PARADIS DE LA CHARCUTERIE

J’ai découvert un morceau de paradis sur terre. Enfin, seulement si, comme moi, vous êtes fan de charcuterie. Caché au coeur de mon quartier d’Islington, loin de l’agitation de la grande rue, il y a une charcuterie artisanale, CURED, dans Cobble Lane (N1 1SF). Issu de l’imagination de trois jeunes bouchers, Adam Brudnowski, Matt Atkinson and Matt Hil, elle produit des produits fait maison exquis.

Lors de ma visite, j’ai admiré les jambons et autres saucissons dans la chambre de maturation et Adam m’a expliqué les procédés menant à la creation de leur charcuterie avec tant de passion que je n’ai pas pu résister. Adam m’a fait goûter des tranches de bresaola. Une fois rentré à la maison, je les ai enroulées autour d’un céleri remoulade, amélioré à la Arnaud, bien sûr. J’ai aussi acheté de la sopressatta, un délicieux saucisson parfumé par trois types de piments rouges, et un saucisson au romarin et graines de céleri. Son cousin, parfumé à l’ail et au fenouil était aussi disponible, et je serai de retour très bientôt pour en acheter un.

Si jamais vous vous trouvez sur Upper Street, à Islington, rendez visite aux trois bouchers dans leur petit coin de paradis caché. Si vous avez envie de quelque chose de différent pour votre prochaine soirée, je peux vous guarantir que vous le trouverez ici. Et si leurs produits sont assez bons pour Jamie Oliver, ils le sont assez pour moi aussi.

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A taste of lavender

I am a creature of habit. Every year, while visiting dear Mama in Provence, I make sure to go to Gordes. Unlike Russell Crowe in A Good Year, it is not to go round and round the mini roundabout at the top of the village, for, unlike him again, I know exactly where I am going. My destination is a tiny shop directly opposite the castle. There, I buy one thing only: lavender honey. The process can be somewhat trying depending on who’s behind the till, but it’s all worth it in the end.

Lavender honey is simply the best thing since sliced bread, or indeed on sliced bread. But I use it in so many ways that I end up buying several kilos of the stuff every time I go. It is delicious on toast in the morning, but you can try a few drops of it on goat’s cheese before grilling it ready for your salade de chèvre chaud. Using it in banana and honey tea bread elevates this humble cake into something special for afternoon tea. And I promise you it transforms a hot chocolate into nectar.

I have been known to give some of my precious stock away to loved ones (you have to be on the special list, I don’t part from it easily!), but honestly, the stuff is rationed. At least, until my next visit to Gordes.

Un goût de lavande

J’ai mes petites habitudes. Tous les ans, en vacances chez Maman, je ne manque jamais d’aller à Gordes. Contrairement à Russell Crowe dans le film A Good Year, ça n’est pas pour faire le tour du mini rond-point en haut du village, car contrairement à lui, derechef, je sais exactement où je dois aller. Ma destination est un tout petit magasin juste en face du château. Là, je n’achète qu’une chose: du miel de lavande. La transaction peut prendre un certain temps, selon la personne dernière la caisse, mais le résultat vaut le coup.

Le miel de lavande est tout simplement la meilleure invention depuis le pain en tranche, comme on dit en anglais, et encore bien meilleur sur du pain en tranche. Mais ce miel est si versatile que je finis toujours par en acheter plusieurs kilo à chaque visite. Simplement délicieux sur du pain grillé pour le petit déjeuner, vous pouvez aussi en faire tomber quelques gouttes sur du fromage de chèvre avant de le placer sous le grill pour votre salade de chèvre chaud. Je l’utilise aussi dans mon gâteau à la banane, un veritable triomphe pour un petit goûter à l’anglaise. Je peux également garantir qu’une simple tasse de chocolat chaud devient pur nectar avec une cuillère de miel de lavande.

Ceux qui me connaissent savent que je donne une partie de mon stock en cadeau (cela dit, vous devez impérativement figurer sur ma liste, je ne me sépare pas facilement de mon miel!), mais franchement, je le rationne. Du moins, jusqu’à ma prochaine visite à Gordes.

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ALK green in Carpentras market

In the summer, Carpentras market is a sight to behold. From the independent fruit and veg growers just outside the medieval wall to the artisanal soap merchant at the top of the town, in the cooling shade of the plane trees, there is everything you could want and even things you never knew you needed. The sheer size of this market is simply mind-boggling, and the freshness and diversity of the produce on offer staggering: cheese, meat, fish, fruit, vegetable, local olive oil and wine, and so much more. There are even hardware stalls in case you forgot the emergency triangle for your car.

The last time we went there, I didn’t buy said triangle, but some delicious saucisson that we had on the terrace that same evening, alongside some gorgeous olives, tapenade, and of course a bottle of the delicious local rosé. We also bought figs, nectarines and the biggest frisée salad I had ever seen.

But the purchase I was most proud of was some gorgeous crockery, which was the right shade of green, henceforth known as ALK green. It was love at first sight: bowls, trays, coffee ‘glasses’ and serving plates, I simply could not resist and could have bought the lot. I also had a good chat with the stallholder, and she even threw in a few pieces as a present, which made my day. She had a real passion and a deserved pride for her product, which, as it turns out, was the best reason to visit Carpentras market that day. It is a passion she shares with all stallholders there. That’s why I’m sure I will go back to Carpentras market for more ALK green.

Du vert ALK au marché de Carpentras

L’été, le marché de Carpentras vaut une visite. Des maraîchers indépendants au pied du mur médiéval aux marchands de savons artisanaux en haut de la ville, sous l’ombre fraîche des platanes, on y trouve tout ce qu’on veut et même certaines choses don st vous ignoriez le besoin. L’étendue du marché est époustouflante, la fraîcheur et diversité des produits à votre disposition hallucinantes: fromages, viandes, poissons, fruits, légumes, huile d’olive et vins de la région, et tellement plus. Il y a même des quincailliers si vous avez oublié le triangle d’urgence pour la voiture.

Lors de ma dernière visite, je n’ai pas acheté le dit triangle, mais un savoureux saucisson dévoré le soir même sur la terrasse, avec quelques superbes olives, de la tapenade et bien sûr une bouteille du délicieux rosé local. Nos autres achats: des figues, quelques nectarines et la plus grosse frisée que j’aie jamais vue.

Mais l’acquisition dont je suis le plus fier: quelques pièces de vaisselle verte, exactement de la bonne couleur, à partir de ce jour connu sous le nom de ‘vert ALK’. J’ai tout acheté: bols, plateau, verres à café et assiettes, je n’ai simplement pas pu résister et j’ai presque acheter tout le stock! J’ai aussi papoté avec la patronne, et elle m’a même donné quelques pièces en cadeau, la meilleure nouvelle de la journée. Sa passion, ainsi que sa fierté à la qualité de ses produits étaient évidentes, et la rencontrer fut la meilleure raison de visiter le marché ce jour-là. Une passion qu’elle partage avec tous les marchands présents. C’est pour ça que je sais que je retournerai au marché de Carpentras pour plus de vert ‘ALK”.

 

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Pleasurable dilemmas

A little while ago, I met my good friend E in town. As we hadn’t seen each other for a while, we’d decided to take advantage of the gorgeous weather to visit Oxford Street and do some shopping. When lunchtime came I found out, to my great surprise, that E had never experienced the delights of Selfridge’s Brass Rail Brasserie.

Coming back to simple pleasures, this one is one of my favourites. Explaining the choices to E, I salivated in anticipation of the salt beef on rye I was going to have (with pickle on the side for me, coleslaw for E). As it sounds like I knew what I was going to have before I got there, where’s the dilemma, I hear you ask?

Which mustard to choose, of course. American, sweet and brown, French, smooth and mellow, or English, colourful and strong? I am not ashamed to say that I opted for a great lashing of Dijon, enough of it to get up my nose and make my eyes water, but a perfect complement to the salt beef. E went for American, preferring the mellower flavour, but delicious it tired out to be, too.

So, there we are, a pleasurable dilemma leading to a simple lunch with a dear friend. Who could ask for anything more?

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A taste of my youth

Last September, as I was browsing the aisles of the local supermarket (well, ok, I was looking for the biggest jar of Nutella I could find), I ‘fell’ on the sweets section. There, a familiar pink and yellow packet caught my eye. Carambar! Wow, now, that’s a blast from the past, I can tell you. What I can’t tell you is when was the last time I actually had one of them. Very nearly 20 years ago, give or take a couple of months, I would say.

These excessively chewy caramel sticks are delicious and ridiculously moreish. The only problem with them is that you simply cannot actually chew on them, as they’d pull your teeth out. So you have to be patient and suck on them. There are two main methods for this. You can unwrap one end of the stick and start there, feeling the caramel melt and stretch or, like me, you can fold the stick in half and stuff the whole thing in your mouth. Hmmmmmm.

The added bonus to the Carambar sticks are the jokes. Found on the inside of the wrapper and sent in by, it seems, young fans, they are simply terrible. If I were to explain how bad these are, I could only compare them to Christmas crackers jokes… Here is an example:

Qu’est-ce qu’une catapulte à salade?

Un lance roquette

(Rusties, drop me an e-mail and I’ll explain!)

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Joyeux Christmas, everyone!

The season is nearly upon us, and I am dreading it. Not so much the shopping for presents (I love it!) and even less the preparing of the feast (as if!). No, what I am dreading is the writing of the Christmas cards. Or rather, I would be dreading it if I actually wrote any. You see, even after all these years in this country, I have not fallen foul of this most bizarre of British obsessions.

It is simply not a French ‘thing’ at all. Some people do send cartes de voeux for the New Year, but even that is nothing compared to the frenzy that seizes a whole population around the beginning of December. In our household, the ordering of the cards from various charities has been done, and the address book has been checked. All that remains now is spending hours writing the darn things.

My role usually involves buying the stamps and sometimes writing the addresses on the envelopes, but I will not do more. End of discussion. Oh, and I will push the boat out enough to take them to the post box, but that’s all. Well, almost. Apparently, it is also my job to find a neat way to display the hundreds (at least it seems that many) of cards we receive every year. But I will NOT be drawn into writing any.

So, if any of my dear friends happen to read this, now you know the truth! And if you happen to receive a card from me, you’ll know how lucky and treasured you are.

 

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Astley Castle

 Nestled in the Warwickshire countryside, Astley Castle is a simply stunning place. Winner of the 2013 RIBA Stirling Prize for architecture, it is imposing, yet charming; sombre, yet utterly comfortable; and most of all, romantic beyond belief. I have been lucky enough to stay there last year with a group of friends and even luckier to be going back later this year. I doubt that we will have the chance to visit again next year.

So I have decided to make the most of it again this year. I am lucky to be only one of the several cooks coming to the gathering, and we always share the pleasures of feeding the group. I will of course be bringing a couple of cakes to make sure that we can have a proper tea upon arrival on the Friday afternoon. After that, I am not sure which meal I will be cooking. I think I may be in charge of breakfast on both days.

Others will provide us with grand meals, keeping us all fuelled for the walks, visits to antiques market and endless (and very competitive) games of croquet. I hope that my friend Dan brings Hector the dog, a wonderfully placid English setter who loves long walks and the wood burner stove, just like me.

I will be sure to update you after breakfast…

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Salted or not, here I come!

I’m talking butter, here. Like Marmite, this issue divides the nation. Let me be clear from the start: it is salted for me, end of. I love the stuff. I guess it’s the Breton in me, making me think that this predisposition is genetic. To be honest, I don’t recall which type of butter was used at home in my early years, but I have a feeling it was beurre doux and not the beurre salé I invariably use on my tartines now.

Of course, baking and cooking use a lot of unsalted butter, and I am going with the flow there, although I stubbornly use my favourite brand of salted butter to create the perfect garlic butter for my world famous(-ish) escargots.

My problem lies in restaurants. To me, even the best of butters, like Echiré, is incomplete without the crunchy flakes of sea salt I’m obviously addicted to. That’s where the salt and pepper set comes in handy. While I trust the chef implicitly as far as the seasoning of my meal is concerned, I simply cannot do without salted butter. Do I then breach restaurant etiquette if I spread some butter on bread and then salt it myself? I would never dream of doing it as a guest at your table, so why do I do it at the chef’s? It’s a mystery, but the stomach wants what it wants…