Herbed Frogs’ Legs

Cuisses de Grenouille aux Herbes

[Herbed Frogs’ Legs]

A lot of the things the French are notorious for eating, like frogs’ legs or snails, kidneys or horse meat, aren’t really that common in everyday food. In the case of frogs’ legs, I personally tasted them for the first time just a year ago, in a three-star restaurant no less, during a week-end getaway in the Perigord.

And then a few weeks ago, while shopping at my Picard store, I noticed that they carried frozen frogs’ legs. Always one for bringing interesting food back into my kitchen, I bought a bag (500 g for 5.76 €) and more or less forgot about it, keeping it for a special occasion. Our recent mission to empty the freezer is certainly special occasion enough, so this past Saturday we decided to treat ourselves to herbed frogs’ legs for lunch.

I had clipped a recipe in a recent issue of the French magazine Saveurs, I went on to search the web for alternate recipes, and ended up with this version : a simple, traditional preparation which uses few ingredients, so as not to mute the frogs’ legs’ shy voice.

The frogs’ legs come in pairs, which should be handled with care so as not to be separated. I spent a little while just gazing at my army of frogs’ pants, marvelling at the smallness and precision of their shape : they are snipped at the base of their spines, and you can see the tiny thighs and calves, the bones and tendons.

We dipped the frogs’ legs in flour to help them develop a golden crust, cooked them in the skillet, and served them sprinkled with chopped parsley and garlic. The flesh on frogs’ legs is often said to “taste like chicken” (the ubiquitous expression), but it struck me as being in fact closer to some white fish, like cod, both in texture and taste. The flavor is very delicate, so it’s important to choose an accompaniment that doesn’t overpower it.

The only realistic, enjoyable way to eat these is with your fingers, gnawing at the teeny weeny little bones, which you pile up into a mininiature mass grave. This is definitely not first-date food, unless you think sticky fingers and garlic breath will bring you closer, which may very well be the case.

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Rhubarb and Raspberry Pink Compote

I’ve always been a great fan of tart and acidic things. I also love the French word for this special combination of tastes, “acidulé“, which perfectly conveys the idea of something colorful and tingly and refreshing. As a child, my favorite candy were the ones that gave your tastebuds shock therapy — I remember with particular fondness those little flying saucers made of pastel wafer paper, filled with a pink powder that tickled and fizzed and made your tongue pucker and curl with delight.

Now that I’m a big girl who can read ingredients lists (E128, anyone?), I don’t really eat candy anymore, and I just turn to more natural sources to get my “acidulé” fix. Rhubarb season is, of course, a very happy time for me, and it sees me consuming this wonderful, humble, versatile fruit in all shapes and forms, while it lasts.

Much to my glee, the latest Campanier basket included a kilo of rhubarb. I decided to go for simplicity, and made compote, in the oven, pairing the rhubarb with some raspberries I had in the freezer.

The compote took on the most lovely shocking pink color, and was as soft and tart and sweet as I had hoped. A cup of this, with a butter cookie to dip in? I can’t think of anything else I’d rather eat.

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Mini Paper Cups

Mini Paper Cups

You know how sometimes, you’ll be reading a cookbook or a cooking magazine, and a recipe will call for a specific piece of equipment? And all of a sudden you just have to have that thing, right that minute? Even though this is the first recipe you’ve ever laid eyes on that mentioned it? Because you can just feel, deep inside of you, that it will make your life better?

Well, this is exactly the story of my mini paper cups.

In no way can I be held responsible, of course. The culprit, in this instance, was Pierre Hermé, by way of his cookbook Mes Desserts Préférés. Among all the gorgeous tempting if-I-had-three-days-to-devote-to-it-I’d-definitely-make-this recipes, he offers a simple recipe for Moelleux aux Amandes. These are bite-size almond cakes, on which he encourages you to plop anything you fancy, a pinenut or a piece of pineapple for instance, and he instructs you to bake them in caissettes en papier. “Mini paper cups?”, thought I, “But I don’t have mini paper cups! I can’t go on living like this!”

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Tomato Chorizo Pistachio Pasta Salad

The Pasta Salad That Rhymed With O

[a.k.a. Tomato Chorizo Pistachio Pasta Salad]

Pasta salads are one of these things I start to crave all of a sudden, when the weather gets warmer. As I’ve mentioned before, I usually bring my own food to work, and pasta salads are great portable lunches : they’re quick to make, they get better as they sit, and they are an easy way to fill up on starch, protein and veggies in one tasty dish.

They’re also an excellent companion for lunch on a bench with a book, in the nearby Parc Montsouris : you hold the book in your left hand, prop the tupperware container up against you with your left wrist, hold the fork in your right hand, and dig in voraciously. Maybe not the classiest of postures, but it works, and it also efficiently discourages anyone from interrupting your reating (reading + eating) activities.

I made this particular pasta salad with multicolored quinoa fusilli from the organic store, and combined them with my homemade tomates confites and the rest of the chorizo we had bought in Madrid. I also wanted to throw in some kind of nut, so I rummaged through my stash, and opted for pistachios, which I consider to be grossly underused.

This mix of flavors turned out to work delightfully well, from the spicy-salty chorizo to the crunchy-sweet pistachios, from the tangy-moist roasted tomatoes to the satisfyingly chompy pasta. My only regret? To have made just two servings.

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Chocolate Orange Bread

Pain Chocolat Orange

[Chocolate Orange Bread]

I bought this loaf of bread at the BoulangEpicier the other day. I’ve mentioned that store before, and it continues to be a favorite of mine : whenever I’m in the area I make sure to stop there, to buy some bread or grab one of their pricy but mind-blowing sandwiches.

I have also adroitly albeit heavily hinted at my neighbor Patricia, who works close by, that it was really perfectly okay to surprise me with a little something from Be every now and then. This has already won me a loaf of fig bread, one of a life-altering walnut bread, a little visitandine (a financier-like almond cake, named after the nuns who belong to the order of Visitation Ste-Marie), and a chocolate chip cookie. Good yield, no? Fine neighbor, too!

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