[Chestnut Pecan Biscotti]

Because I know you’ve been hanging on to the edge of your seats and I’m not such a bad person after all, here is my report on this year’s batch of edible gifts. The recipe I ended up making on Saturday afternoon — in between a few last-minute errands, but I’m fortunate enough to live in a neighborhood that offers plenty of shops that cater to the disorganized and thus belated present-buyer — was Nolwenn’s, a recipe for hard and crunchy little cookies that the Italians may liken to biscotti di Prato or cantuccini, the Americans to biscotti, and that we French call croquants. In their almond version, these cookies are a traditional — though optional — addition to the treize desserts de Noël (thirteen desserts of Christmas) in Provence.

[A brief aside on the word croquant: it comes from the verb croquer, which dictionaries tell you can be translated as “to crunch”. I respectfully and regretfully disagree, it is but an approximate translation: say both words out loud, can you hear how they describe quite different texture experiences? And don’t even get me started on croustillant, perhaps the most joyful of French words, and for which “crisp” is such a weak equivalent. There are — obviously — superb English words that one can’t express in French, but these two I miss dearly.]

What attracted me to this particular recipe was that it used chestnut flour and nut butter, two ingredients I love and love to use. I realize as I type that I made quite a few modifications to her recipe: I used ground almonds instead of ground hazelnuts; I used almond butter and praline paste instead of almond butter only; I lowered the amount of chestnut flour by blending it with wheat flour (chestnut flour is quite assertive and I didn’t want it to overpower the other flavors); I used just pecans instead of a mix of nuts and dried fruits; and finally, I didn’t add any olive oil because the dough was plenty moist without it.

Once cooled, these croquants, subtly sweet and boasting the sort of earthy, toasty flavor that is just perfect for this time of year, were lightly dipped in bittersweet chocolate to give them the smooth, rich note this treatment adds, as well as a rather attractive lining of dark velvet. They were then packaged up in little crystal bags (from the box of 100 I acquired at Mora some three years ago and can’t seem to make a dent into), along with a handful of the most delectable kumquats I’ve ever been given to taste.

These were a chance inspiration from my Saturday morning run to the Batignolles market, where things were quiet enough for the eve of a Christmas eve. I bought just a few at first, tried one as I went about the rest of my shopping, and soon enough found myself eating them one after the other, like those ladies you see in old movies, sprawled out on their couch and gobbling up chocolate bonbons. Kumquats can be fierce little guys, dry and astringent, but these were just the right mix of sweet and bitter to make them a grownup’s treat, yes, but not a punishment (although some punishments can be quite sweet, but I digress).

My little bag almost empty, I went back to the stall to get more to share, and hope they’ll still have them next week, for I may try making candied kumquats, or kumquat marmalade, or perhaps a kumquat ginger cake.

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[Violet Cornmeal Macarons]

If you are still trying to get your act together about what homemade edible presents to give out this holiday season, I’m here to tell you that you are not alone. I myself have done precisely zilch about it, but that’s okay: today is Tuesday, Christmas eve is this Sunday, and that still gives me plenty of time to pick a recipe, buy the ingredients, and get started, right? Right? Thank you.

I would hate to spoil the surprise for the usual recipients of my food gifts, who happen to read this blog every once in a while — especially just before they see me so they can pretend they read it more faithfully than they probably do –, so I can’t tell you exactly what I’ll make, but I will gladly point you to a few recipes I’m considering (but haven’t tested yet):

~ Jenjen’s Maple Brandy Snaps,
~ Monica Hayden’s Havreflarn, as recommended by Marie,
~ Nolwenn’s Dried fruit biscotti (in French),
~ Pascale’s Chocolate caramels (in French),
~ Bulle’s Guimauves, the French marshmallows (in French).

Add to those twelve gift-worthy favorites from the C&Z archives (a selection you would have received in your mailbox three weeks ago if you were a happy subscriber of my monthly newsletter):

~ Very Ginger Cookies,
~ Shortbread,
~ Chocolate and Cacao Nib Cookies,
~ Green Tea Cat’s Tongues,
~ Chocolate-dipped Apricots,
~ Dried Pears (which you can chocolate-dip, too),
~ Mendiants,
~ Florentins,
~ Spiced Chocolate Peanut Butter,
~ Wine Jelly,
~ Almond Lemon Curd,
~ Pear and Cacao Nib Jam.

And a bonus recipe, that of the cornmeal macarons* I’ve come up with a few months ago: I was hoping to create delicate two-bite numbers that would make good teatime companions, preferably with a lightly crunchy crust that would yield into a soft, nubby heart. I tinkered and stirred and trusted my instincts, and I was quite pleased with what I got — pleased enough to make a few more batches since then (it is such an easy one-bowl, scoop-drop-‘n-bake recipe), in different flavor incarnations: violet, citrus zest and pepper, or simply vanilla.

* Read more about the use of the word macaron.

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Just as a reminder, you have until Friday to make a donation in our Menu for Hope fundraiser and get a chance to win some of the cool prizes; my sincere thanks to all of you who have already donated with such generosity.

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Barbie dolls didn’t do much for me when I was little, but I had a passion for plush animals. Each of them had a name and a set of personality traits (often refined by my father, who would improvise bedtime shows for my sister and me, with voices and everything), and they felt more alive than I think grownups can really remember. A direct consequence of this was that, even though I had preferences, naturally — I remember a black crow I’d won at the Jardin d’Acclimatation: it was ugly, it smelled funny, and I couldn’t bring myself to really love it –, I forbid myself to even admit these feelings, for fear of hurting theirs.

But now that I’m more or less an adult and have a pretty strong hunch that inanimate objects can’t get upset, I feel comfortable listing a few of my current edible and drinkable favorites from recent food shopping excursions. (If, however, the rest of my pantry turns sour all of a sudden, I may have to remove the post, I’m sure you’ll understand.)

~ Beurre au sel fumé (smoked salt butter) by Jean-Yves Bordier

Bordier can be described as the butter darling of the French gastronomic scene. His hand-beaten, hand-shaped butter is indeed outstanding, and his latest creation (yes, we now live in a world where the line between the artist and the artisan is blurrier by the day) is unlike anything I’ve tasted before: it is a butter that’s flavored with a mix of salt and spices — I understand this smoked salt follows a Norwegian technique — to give it smoky, almost earthy notes that reveal themselves in the back of your palate, in the aftermath of the rich yet refreshing butter kick.

It is splendid on fish and steamed (or mashed) potatoes, it can be spread on rye bread to eat with oysters, and I had such interesting results using it in a mini-batch of shortbread, that I must try it in salted butter caramels.

I buy my Bordier butter from Les Papilles Gourmandes, a neighborhood shop I’ve mentioned before (they also stock the unsalted, salted, and seaweed varieties), but it can also be found elsewhere in the city (La Grande Epicerie, Da Rose, Fauchon, Pascal Trotté’s cheese shop…) and, of course, right at the source in Saint-Malo.

Jean-Yves Bordier Map it!
9, rue de l’Orme – 35400 Saint-Malo
02 99 40 88 79

Les Papilles Gourmandes Map it!
26 rue des Martyrs – 75009 Paris
01 45 26 42 89

~ Sables blancs, a lightly flavored white tea from Le Parti du Thé

I like Mariage Frères as much as the next girl (though probably not as much as this next girl) but these days I am much more excited about the teas at Le Parti du Thé. This independant tea seller was recommended to me by Valérie Gentil of Beau et Bon (a quirky food shop I just as heartily recommend), and the first time I visited I had to physically restrain myself from buying a bit of each of their varieties — since they have over three hundreds, you can imagine why restraint is important.

The three kinds I’ve liked best so far are the Sables Blancs (“white sands”, a Pai Mu Tan Imperial white tea with discreet notes of coconut and vanilla, pictured above), the Oolong Fleurs d’Oranger (semi-fermented tea from Taiwan with orange blossoms; Beau et Bon carries it), and the Pousse-Pousse (a mix of semi-smoked teas).

Le Parti du Thé / Map it!
34 rue Faidherbe – 75011 Paris
01 43 72 42 04

Beau et Bon / Map it!
81 rue Lecourbe – 75015 Paris
01 43 06 06 53

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Soupe de Chou-Fleur, Curcuma et Noisette

I know a lot of people who dislike cauliflower. Perhaps I am biased since I grew up eating my mother’s killer gratin de chou-fleur, but I really don’t see what’s not to like in a vegetable that’s mild-flavored without being bland, that’s so good-looking it is described as a flower in numerous languages (chou-fleur, cavolfiore, coliflor, Blumenkohl, bloemkool, couve-flor — wanna add yours?), and that plays along admirably in the most gratifying of cold-weather kitchen activities: the making of the soup.

The best argument that can be made in favor of cauliflower is not to serve it as is and insist that it is delicious, but rather to pimp it and let doubters taste and decide for themselves

But, as I said, I know a lot of people who dislike cauliflower, some of whom live and sleep and eat pretty close to me, and I have found that the best argument that can be made in favor of cauliflower is not to serve it as is and insist that it is delicious (years of doing that have gotten me exactly nowhere), but rather to pimp it and let doubters taste and decide for themselves. Oh, we are not talking extreme makeover here, no, just a bit of makeup and a flattering outfit, so the cauliflower soup will be gulped down and enjoyed and complimented.

Today’s version, flavored with turmeric and velvetized [of course it is a real verb] by ground hazelnuts, is a combined tribute to Rose Bakery (ground almonds are used for body and texture in their green bean soup), Eric Kayser (his hazelnut and turmeric bread has become a classic), and a strange man who once engaged Maxence and I in conversation at the terrace of a restaurant, explained that turmeric was a natural remedy for many an illness, and that one should (ideally) eat a spoonful at every meal. I’m not quite there yet, but the turmeric obviously did the soup a lot of good.

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On another, much more important note, please consider making a donation in the food bloggers’ third fundraising campaign, A Menu for Hope. Every US$10 you donate will buy you a raffle ticket to win one of the fantabulous prizes on offer, and all funds raised will go to the UN World Food Program. Check Pim’s blog for the skinny with a complete list of the prizes, and David‘s for a detailed list of the prizes contributed by European bloggers (what you’ll get from me — prize EU22 — is a copy of my upcoming book, with a little note just for you).

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