Just when you thought that some things, like salt, couldn’t be improved upon, someone has to go out and invent mushroom salt!

This pretty grinder, which I bought at the Grande Epicerie de Paris, contains thick crystals of sea salt and chunks of dried mushrooms — chanterelles, porcini and African caesar mushrooms — so that the seasoning you grind out is a very pleasant blend of salted mushroom flavor. This is, as you would expect, particularly good on eggs and tomatoes, on potato-based dishes and buttered toast, but I tend to pretty much use it on any and everything, these days.

It is made by a company called The Cape Herb & Spice Company, based in South Africa, interestingly enough. They offer different kinds of spice-based products, including this line of grinders, called Elements of Spice, mixing sea salt and peppercorns with a variety of herbs, spices, seaweed or even flowers.

The blends have well-designed labels and imaginative names, which account for half the attraction, I’m sure : mine is called “Magic Mushrooms”, and for my next acquisition I have my eye on “Darling Buds”, a blend of sea salt, rose buds and petals, lavender and chamomile flowers. Or wait, let’s see, maybe “Fruits Alfresco”, with sundried tomatoes, roasted garlic, olive, bell peppers and red onion? Or maybe both?

I love surprises, and I’m sure you’ll agree that cooking surprises are among the best.

You set out to make something, unsure where you’re going, assembling things, changing courses as you go; you don’t really know what you’re doing, half-thinking “oh dear that doesn’t look right”, but still, you’re going with the flow, following your intuition and reasoning that, with what’s in it, what could go wrong?

And then, despite your doubts — which you’d think would undermine the confidence of the dish, and cripple its ambition — what you make turns out, not just passable, not just okay, but plain excellent. You look at it and it looks really good. You eat it and you marvel, with each bite, at the sheer magic of cooking chemistry.

This is precisely what happened with this Broccoli and Cornmeal Upside Down Cake. I prepared it the other night, coming home from work: I had cornbread on the brain and I wanted to use up a lonely head of broccoli that was feeling neglected. I was going to fold the broccoli into a cornmeal-based batter, but at the very last minute decided to pour the batter on top of the broccoli instead, à la upside down cake.

But the batter seemed a little strange, I was wondering about the amount of baking powder I had used, and was generally unsure about the whole idea. Still, I put it into the oven and hoped for the best. I kept an eye on it, and saw it turn beautifully golden. When it looked about ready I flipped it onto a serving plate and was ever-so-pleased to discover how pretty it looked.

I cut it in wedges, served it warm, and was delighted with the outcome. Cornmeal and broccoli go wonderfully well together: the cornmeal batter develops a nice crust on the outside, and feels increasingly moist the closer it gets to the broccoli. The walnuts and raisins add great textural and flavor variety; next time I may try walnut and bacon bits for a non-vegetarian version. The leftovers were fantastic, served cold for lunch the next day, and I think this would be the perfect picnic item or brunch dish, made the night before and served at room temperature.

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Oh. My. Muffin.

These corn muffins you see here were made with the mix that Alicia sent me a little while ago, as part of her Maryland Delights food package.

I hadn’t had a corn muffin since my California days, and they were as excellent as I remembered, if not even more so. This mix is made by a brand named Washington, and boasts golden sweet corn as its first ingredient — while the Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix lists Enriched Flour, Niacin, Iron, Thiamine Mononitrate, Riboflavin and Folic Acid before cornmeal even shows up! This may very well explain the taste difference.

And um, as enthusiastic a baker as I am, there is definitely something to be said for baking mixes : you dump the mix in a bowl, add a beaten egg and a half-cup of milk (which was, quite eerily, exactly the amount left in the carton), and then stir-pour-bake. The most time-consuming thing was, possibly, lining the muffin pan with paper cups.

Nice and golden, subtly sweet with a great corn flavor, they developped the tastiest crust on top. We ate them still warm, just out of the oven. Maxence seems to be a horizontal muffin eater, but I am most definitely a vertical muffin eater, bottom-to-top : remove the paper liner, but gently, to minimize the amount of muffin that stays stuck on, for grating the paper cup with your teeth isn’t acceptable in all situations, and just isn’t as enjoyable as you might expect. Flip the muffin upside down and bite into the bottom of the muffin, gnawing at the moussy yellow goodness, until you are left with the top crust and just the right amount of remaining muffin flesh. Take a moment to admire your crispy flying saucer with the eyes of love, and eat it blissfully in a circular motion, crusty side down.

And now, dear and resourceful readers, my question to you is : does anyone have a from-scratch recipe that makes corn muffins as delightful as these?

I could eat sandwiches at every meal. This is probably because I adore bread, but also because nothing beats holding your food in your hands and biting greedily into it. Elegant? No. Messy? Yes. But oh-so-satisfying!

Sandwich making, however, is an art that very few food outlets master. Cardboard bread, processed chicken, limp lettuce, mayo overdose, this is what you have to face most of the time. And it shouldn’t be that difficult really: decent bread and a few good-quality ingredients, in an interesting and sound combination. Are my expectations too high?

Besides the traditional jambon-beurre (a half-baguette sandwich garnished with butter and ham), I think sandwiches are just not part of the French food culture. Most people think of sandwiches as a way to eat a cheap and fast lunch, setting aside all considerations of quality and taste. And of course a good sandwich, as described above, is not cheap to make, so it may just be a supply and demand thing: if people are not willing to pay for a good sandwich, well, let them eat crap.

So I very rarely buy sandwiches, unless I am in the vicinity of one of my trusted sources (Boulangépicier, Cojean) and I will often take matters into my own hands when the urge strikes. This is how today’s featured sandwich came to life: I came home from work, positively famished, with visions of sandwiches dancing in my head, composing themselves with the ingredients I had on hand. Little loaves of bread and figs from the freezer, buffalo mozzarella and pesto from the fridge, and basil from the window sill herb garden. Quickly assembled, quickly baked in the oven, quickly scarfed down.

A moment of pure, scrumptious enjoyment. The bread gets crispy in the oven, and the ingredient combo is simple and beautiful : sweet figs, soft mozzarella, fragrant basil and tasty pesto. This was so earth-shatteringly good that I couldn’t get enough of it, and actually made it three times in five days, until I was forced to stop for lack of supplies. Otherwise there’s a good chance I’d be eating one as I type.

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