Gin·ger·snap (noun) :
1. a thin brittle cookie, round or rectangular, sweetened with molasses and flavored with ginger (and optionally other spices). Close cousin: the speculoos from Flanders.
2. one of these viral recipes that occasionally spread like magic through our little world of food blogs!

And we have Renee [2010 update: she was the author of the now defunct blog “Feeding Dexygus Seconds”] to thank for this one. Renee had applied for a pastry cook position at the renowned Berkeley restaurant Chez Panisse. At the end of the tryout and interview, sensing she wouldn’t get the job, she decided to cut her losses and asked if she could have the recipe for the gingersnaps she had been served at the end of staff lunch. The interviewer (possibly Alice Waters herself?) obliged.

I love that story. It’s a great illustration that there is something to be gained from any situation, and it also goes to show that there is never any harm in asking for a recipe, however prestigious the owner. Apparently I wasn’t the only one to be touched by the story and tempted by the cookie: a dozen food bloggers subsequently baked these gingersnaps and posted about their success — each of their reports only heightening my desire to join the ranks of CPG fans.

The occasion finally arose last week, when a few of my cousins came over for a Sunday afternoon goûter. This was my first time baking with molasses, despite my having bought a jar of organic mélasse over six months ago — one of these purchases I sometimes make with the dim notion that some exciting recipe calls for it, then promptly forget about. Molasses is a byproduct of the sugar refining process, it is the thick syrup you get when you boil down the sugar cane juices to extract sugar. When carefully produced, molasses retain most of the sugar cane’s nutritional elements: minerals, iron, magnesium and calcium.

And since I seem to have so much interest in sugar and its healthy versions lately, allow me to share with you my favorite word for today: mellifluous, which my good friend Merriam-Webster defines as “having a smooth rich flow (a mellifluous voice)” or “filled with something (as honey) that sweetens”. End of vocable interlude, thank you for your attention.

This was also my first time baking gingersnaps (or eating homebaked ones for that matter), and I was suitably wowed. They had a deep and complex taste I attribute mostly to the use of molasses, a pleasant hint of petrolousness (Merriam-Webster has yet to learn about that one) wonderfully ignited by the spices’ heat. As for the texture it was just perfect, offering crispness to the bite, then tenderness to the chew.

Sadly, this texture didn’t survive a night in my lousy non-hermetic tin box and they had gone soft the next day. They still tasted great of course, but they had definitely lost the “snap” in gingersnap, and looked somewhat disconsolate and droopy. But the good people on the C&Z forums were able to offer advice and I trust this won’t happen again — in the meantime I froze the leftovers and plan on giving them a glorious new life sometime soon, possibly reincarnating them into a cheesecake crust.

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Le chou-rave — in English kohlrabi or cabbage turnip — is my greatest vegetable discovery for this winter. Although its name would indicate that it is a root vegetable (“rave” means “root”, as in betterave [beetroot] or celeri-rave [celeryroot]) it is in fact a surface vegetable that belongs to the cabbage family. It is also exceptionally rich in vitamins and nutrients.

I first spotted it in the display of my favorite produce stall at the market, and was initially drawn to it because of its interesting look — a plump pastel green body with graceful little arms shooting up from all sides and twirling around, ending in large green leaves. I asked the stall keeper about them, the one who’s so pretty and has a smile so fresh you would swear she just hopped right out of the salad crates, the one who’s always glad to advise about cooking methods and recipes (I usually pretend I’m not quite ready until she’s available to take my order).

She explained that the greens are edible and can be used like parsley, while the best use for the body is to peel it, slice it thinly, and eat the slices raw with a little fleur de sel sprinkled on top. This came as a surprise, it sounded like such a summery use for what I had imagined to be a root vegetable, destined for boiling and stewing and roasting (all methods you could also apply to our friend the chou-rave).

I promptly tried this at home and from then on became a die-hard fan of raw chou-rave. The flesh is crunchy like a radish but it has none of the radish’s peppery bite, and its flavor is sweet and subtly nutty. The slices are moist enough that you can press them gently onto a little pile of salt so a few flakes will stick, a beautifully complement in terms of taste and texture.

But my personal preference, for a tasty and healthy appetizer, is to match it with spirulina gomasio — my greatest condiment discovery for this winter.

[Banana Pecan Muffins]

Brunch. What a fabulously promising word, evocative of lazy Sunday mornings, meeting with your friends at a sunny terrace, all of you a little sleepy and deliciously carefree, to share the kind of simple and comforting food that makes you feel like a kid again. Runny eggs on toast. Bacon and potatoes. Blueberry pancakes. Puffy French toast.

I adored our brunches in the US — each occasion was cause for elation and excitement — and making the transition to Parisian brunches has been a cruel disappointment. Over the past few years, the concept has evolved from completely foreign to ubiquitous, but very few places get it right (by that I mean getting a little more creative than just eggs, cheap smoked salmon, average bread and industrial jam). And when they do, chances are it will cost you a small fortune and/or the place will be packed and you’ll have to wake up at dawn, or stand in line for a table because none of those places take reservations. Too much stress for a Sunday morning in my book.

So what Maxence and I like to do is invite our friends over. Since a brunch is supposed to be a lazy thing, we rely on our neighborhood shops to provide ready-to-eat scrumpadillies — fresh bread and croissants from the boulangerie, different kinds of hams and terrines from the charcuterie and an assortment of cheese from the fromagerie. We round that out with freshly squeezed orange juice, your choice of tea or coffee (free refills!) and a selection from my ever-flourishing collection of jams and spreads. Needless to say, we usually have leftover stuff to eat for about a week afterwards, but that’s a clear benefit.

And since this is all so easily put together — apart from the bread and croissants everything can be bought in advance — I will usually bake a little something, to add a nice homemade touch to the brunch feast.

When my sister Céline came over for brunch last Sunday, I had plans to make the recipe Molly gave for her friend Glenn’s Banana Bread with Chocolate Chips and Candied Ginger. Maxence wasn’t too keen on chocolate chips and ginger in his banana bread so I opted for the classic pecan companion, and I baked muffins instead of a loaf, just because muffins are small and single-serving and cute, and because it was a good occasion to finally use the silicon muffin tins I bought last October.

They turned out delightfully moist and flavorful, and the banana and pecan pairing is just perfect — generations of bakers can’t be wrong. I like them best fresh out of the oven (after the necessary cooling down), before their inimitable crusty hat turns soft. But you can refresh them the next day by returning them into the warm oven for a couple of minutes.

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[Spirulina Gomasio]

I’m always happy to try new and intriguing food. It’s a hit-or-miss kind of habit and I have on occasion bought things that turned out to be nasty (in that ugh-nasty-nasty-bleh-spit-spit kind of way), but it’s all in the name of science and research, yes?

My organic grocery store in particular seems very much aware of that penchant of mine, and regularly puts out displays to subtly direct my attention towards this or that product. I generally steer clear of the things that are too obviously targeted at the health-food nut, because they often cease to look and feel like real food to me. But I recently let one such display convince me.

I bought a little bag of spirulina gomasio, something I had never ever heard of before.

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