Finding the Beet

In almost every French refrigerator I've had occasion to peek into I will find a few standbys. These are a little different than the pb&j or yellow mustard so often seen in American refrigerators. On the bottom shelf of forgotten condiments there is usually a small jar of confit, pickles (with tarragon that I've mentioned previously) and beets. Beets you say?

My family usually has a jar of pickled beets in the fridge during the cooler months. They find their way to the table when we have a crudites platter at Thanksgiving, etc. But in France the beets are vacuum packed rather than pickled. They can sit there for months in the vegetable drawer until inspiration hits or people get desperate.

I am too excited about these to wait. My favorite thing about the beet is the texture. There is a tenderness to cooked beets that is unique. Cook other root vegetables--carrots, turnips, parsnips--and without a doubt you will have a delicious meal. But I get the same satisfaction from a thick slice of roasted beet as I do from a nice piece of meat (this isn't true with me and a carrot). Not a vegetarian, I am unsure if the protein provided by my rosy beet is a good replacement for animal protein but it is yummy and guilt free.

Also I want to point out the packaging of these beets. The mark Betty Loire is a subset of Terr'Loire. They have a website offering simple recipes that highlight the delicate flavors of their products. Beets seem to play second fiddle to the potato in the eyes of Terr'Loire but the recipes are worth checking out. Their beets are sold in threes and you have to be careful when you cut open one of the packages. That deep magenta juice is gorgeous but not easy to clean up. Especially for those of us who can't help but make a mess with food.

I am full of ideas for my beets and I'm starting with lunch today. I am considering a warm beet and goat cheese salad with a little sherry vinaigrette. I'm off to the market for shallots and we'll see what else. It has been raining for the last few days and the earthy flavor of a burgundy beet will be just right. If only I could find a great cider to accompany the meal.

Broken French

I am the kind of person who needs to recover. Give me a task (planning a dinner party, cleaning the fridge, painting my toenails) and I am silently tabulating the time I’ll need to regroup. A lot of thought and intense in the moment energy goes into each of those task. It takes time to fully understand the implications of whatever task I have completed. Post fridge I consider the time a jar of pickles can stay in the fridge. I weigh how often I actually crave a pickle and compare my cravings to the amount of fridge space the Mt. Olive jars take up.

Except here in Dijon we don't have Mt. Olive, we have Maile. They make mustard...it is very good mustard but the pickles have too much tarragon in them. There are some of us out there who are very particular about pickles. I prefer mine with more mustard seeds and garlic and less tarragon, but since I've yet to master pickling I will continue the taste test. For the record there is only on jar of pickles in my refrigerator right now and, umm, five jars of mustard. It is forever a hostess gift.

My dinner guests this week were my first strictly french group. Jim, my fellow Carolinian and fearless leader of Eats 101, was back in town for the weekend and suggested we host a little fête for the folks on JJ Rousseau. Jim would provide the dining space and I would provide the dinner. At his suggestion we decided on a Spanish feast. We are slowly moving towards autumn so I took advantage of the last of the summer's tomatoes to prepare an Andalusian gazpacho, paella, salad with membrillo and manchego, and lemon cream with fresh raspberries.

The evening, despite my worry, was a total success.

The Rest of It

Yesterday we had a rainstorm in Dijon. It rains often here but never have I seen the sky open and the rain pour down on my little street. It was wonderful. It reminded me of home, summer nights when a thunderstorm would bathe the balmy Carolina nights, breaking the unbearable heat. Then I realized that the skylights were open upstairs and that my bedroom ceiling seems to be leaking and I wished it would stop.

I believe that summer is on its way out here. It has been nine months since arriving in Dijon and, though the summer kept me out of town for weeks on end, I am excited about my first fall in Dijon. It feels like home. I am finally becoming a familiar face in my favorite boulangerie, the little epicerie, the best kebab, and of course the homeless guy. I think that he and I are a little in love because of our similar fashion sense. We both favor short shorts with oversize vintage jackets. AND he prefers neutral tones! Just like me. He may be my best friend in Dijon.

I thought I'd better take today to finish up my report on this summer's travels before I turn to the first food posts. So...

After my plane from Glasgow touched down outside of Paris I had a very tight schedule if I wanted to make it back to Dijon that night (bus ride into city-an hour and a half, metro from bus station to Gare de Lyon - 20 minutes). It looked like I was going to make it until our bus hit a car as we merged into Paris traffic. It was more of a scrape than a head on collision but meant that I missed my plane. I spent the night on the couch of friends in Paris and thought I'd rendezvous with a friend from the States the next morning. We missed each other after both waiting in the rain for forty-five minutes. Not the end of the world. I thought I'd go out to lunch. Every time I make it to Paris for more than a train change I head over to metro stop St. Paul and get the Falafel at L'As du Falafel in the Marias. This visit everything seemed a little off. The rain was so heavy when I left my friend's apartment I decided to throw in the towel and just head back to Dijon...Erin was arriving in a few days.

I eventually made it with Laura and Erin. It is located at 34, rue de Rosiers, in the Marais. (Open every day, except closed Friday beginning at sundown, reopening for lunch Sunday, four euros for an incredibly delicious and satisfying meal. Get extra harisa for the kick that I am addicted to.

Before Erin and I went to Spain for Sigrid's wedding we visited Laura in Paris. The visit consisted in picnics in the park, cheese shopping and a minimal amount of museum time.

Cupar: Where Summer Began

Adjusting to life in Dijon has been a bit difficult because I just haven't been here. Starting in June I've traveled every ten days or so. From Scotland, to Spain, to Paris the summer has been like a great sandwich...a little Dijon in between it all. I thought I'd post the photos that best represent the travels.

It began with a flight to Glasgow the easiest and cheapest way for me to arrive in Cupar, Fife where my dear friend Lauren was living for the summer. This is a view from her window. Those are chickens in the backyard. Cupar was amazing. About an hour by train from Edinburgh it was the perfect vacation for someone with my taste. That means no heat, no sun, hard cider, a gourmet cheese shop (with award winning ice cream Best Strawberry in Scotland-it was very good), and a butcher with meat it really might have mooed.

Lauren has an illustrious job in an Edinburgh auction house leaving me alone most days. I was free to layer on Lauren's clothes (a activity I'd sorely missed with the channel between us), walk down the high street and plan the next evenings meals. The kitchen featured the Scottish version of an Aga those fabulous stoves so popular in English country kitchens. I taken my first tentative, solo stirs on an Aga in Crawthorne, Yarm four years ago and it felt good to be back in front of a stove that you had to intimately understand. I am all for close relationships.

We hit the stores after a reunion night of Martinis on Queenstreet. It seems close to impossible to find a great Martini outside of Paris. These were good. By stores I mean the grocery store where Lauren and I decided we missed Mexican. In award of an award winning chili recipe we soon found ourselves in the kitchen in Cupar prepping and then waiting. Luckily we had cider to keep us busy.

Amuses-Bouche

Do I do anything the easy way? No...you'll find this out quick enough. I came to Dijon, France in January to study the culinary implications of religion, politics, globalization.... and for five amazing months ate wonderful meals, traveled to tastings, and generally lived in bliss.

And when my fellow students and our professor returned to North Carolina I stayed. I live in Dijon and am trying to begin life as a freelance writer and food aficionado while I study French for the next ten months. I have an apartment with a kitchen, a computer and that is about it.

We'll see and hopefully taste what happens...