On a recent Saturday morning, Marie-Laure, Ludo and I embarked on a large-scale cooking-toy shopping expedition, ostensibly to get Laurence a birthday present. It was their first time experiencing the magic of E.Dehillerin, A.Simon and Mora, and we had a grand time, which culminated in a delicious lunch at Oliopanevino, a tiny Italian restaurant a stone’s throw from Dehillerin.

Among the absolute must-sees of the area is, of course, G.Detou. In addition to being a splendid place to buy baking supplies in bulk, G.Detou also offers a selection of great products in regular sizes – chocolate, jams and condiments – for a much more reasonable price than anywhere else.

And there, amidst the candied violets and the chocolate-covered almonds, stood this jar of crème de calisson. Calisson! Creamy! In a jar! If that isn’t the best idea in the history of mankind, I don’t know what is.

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On Sunday, my parents and I were invited to lunch at my sister Céline’s, and I offered to bring dessert. With the beautiful spring weather we’ve been having, I felt like making something light and fruit-based. Rhubarb season has just begun and we are all big fans in my family, so that was the fruit of choice.

I looked around the web, and read good reviews of Nigella‘s rhubarb grunt. It sounded easy (hardly unusual for a Nigella recipe) so I set my heart on it. I had never heard of grunts before, so I did a little research, and found out that they are a traditional dessert from Ireland, Newfoundland and New England, in which fruit is covered with lumps of dough, and cooked on the stove (the more traditional way) or in the oven.

Grunts also go by the name of slumps or bucklers, and are close cousins of the cobbler. As the dessert cooks, the dough dumplings “slump” or “buckle”, and some say you can hear the fruit “grunt” as the air escapes. Or maybe it’s the eaters who grunt with pleasure, that part is none too clear.

I made a few modifications to Nigella’s recipe, adding raspberries, lowering the sugar (I like my rhubarb to be tart) and butter content, and substituting whole wheat flour for part of the regular flour. I wasn’t sure what whipped double cream was, so I just beat my crème fraîche with a whisk before adding it in. Not much though, for I have no patience and little strength.

Some say you can hear the fruit “grunt” as the air escapes. Or maybe it’s the eaters who grunt with pleasure, that part is none too clear.

My sister is starting to really get into cooking, and this couldn’t make me happier. In her previous apartments she had very little kitchen space to play around in (and I do mean very little kitchen space), but her new apartment boasts a kitchen of much more reasonable size, in which she has room to spread her wings. It seems my enthusiasm is infectious and we find ourselves in more and more conversations about kitchen apparel, menu planning, recipes and food shopping. I love explaining and helping and sharing so much that it is a real joy to get calls from my sister or my friends, asking about a dish or a technique: I get all excited and probably give way too much information, but it seems to help anyway because they come back with reports of success, and more requests.

On this particular sunny day, Céline had baked delicious mini crustless quiches in her new silicon molds. She served them warm, as an appetizer, while we toasted with Champagne. As a main course we had oven-baked fish fillets on a bed of Provencal vegetables (onions, zucchini, eggplant, tomatoes and peppers), cooked to perfection and very tasty. The living-room was drenched in sunlight, the white wine my father had brought was excellent, a light breeze was blowing in from the large windows which look out onto a park — precisely my idea of a happy Sunday lunch.

We went on to eat the raspberry rhubarb grunt, which I had returned the still-warm (but turned off) oven as we ate the main dish, and we all enjoyed it very much. Rhubarb and berries are always a delightful pairing, the rhubarb’s delicate pink hues being brought out by the bolder berry colors. The scone-like topping cooks in the steam generated by the fruit and this makes for a great consistency, soft and moist from the fruit underneath, golden and crispy on top.

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[Truffled Scrambled Eggs]

The other day at lunchtime, I was on my own and starving. A glance in the fridge, and lunch rolled out before my eyes : I had one truffle left in its little jar, some eggs, fresh watercress, and fabulous walnut bread from the BoulangEpicier, which Patricia, the best neighbor in the whole wide world, had bought for me on her way home from work.

Upon closer inspection, the top of the truffle had grown a delicate little beard, white and fuzzy. I hesitated for a second, then thought well, aren’t truffles a type of fungus in the first place? A little more wouldn’t hurt, would it? And how often do I have truffles, bearded or otherwise, in the fridge?

I cut off the top and put the incident behind me.

I whipped up the brouillade (the name derives from “brouillé”, which means “scrambled”), rinsed and seasoned the watercress, toasted the bread, and arranged all this on a plate. I sat myself comfortably at the bar, and enjoyed my classy lunch, while leafing idly through the April issue of Gourmet Magazine, which my friend Nassim kindly brought back from his recent trip to NY.

Alternate name for the recipe : “How to feel like a superstar“.

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[Swiss Chard Strudel]

Last Saturday, I recruited a few dear friends to help me eat the Chocolate & Zucchini Cake I had baked : with Maxence away on a business trip, it was just me and that good-lookin’ cake, and although I can always be trusted to do my fair share of the eating, that’s exactly the problem. Plus, I needed opinions! So Ludo and Marie-Laure, and our next-door neighbors Stéphan and Patricia, were invited over for a little potluck dinner.

Ludo and Marie-Laure took care of the cheese course, bread and wine, and our neighbors brought appetizers, including little toasts of a wonderful chicken liver mousse made by their butcher friend. I love chicken liver, its sweet taste and soft texture, and this was really well seasoned, with shallots and herbs. Stéphan also made a gratin de pâtes, a sort of pasta bake with multicolored quinoa pasta, tasty and moist.

As for me, I contributed the cake, and wanted to make a savory dish as well. I had recently found sheets of filo dough (also spelled phyllo) at Monoprix, a slightly upscale French grocery store, so filo dough concoctions had been on my mind for awhile. I also had a fresh bunch of swiss chard and a round of fresh goat cheese, so I was inspired to make swiss chard strudels.

Filo dough is not commonly sold in mainstream stores around here. It is easier to find brick dough, which is somewhat similar, but not quite : brick dough is a North-African specialty (rather than Middle-Eastern), the sheets are round instead of rectangular, and they are thicker and not as smooth. It was my first time working with filo dough, and it turned out to be a bit more tricky to handle than brick dough. The thinness of filo causes it to dry out pretty quickly, so it’s a good idea to cover the stack of sheets with a damp towel. But not too damp, otherwise the sheets will get too soft and they’ll tear when you manipulate them. It does takes a little adjusting, but it is really worthwhile.

When layered and baked, the sheets of filo get this really pleasant consistency, brittle and flaky in places, soft and smooth in others. The swiss chard and goat cheese filling was really tasty, and the pairing was fabulous, both texture and flavor-wise. Not to mention that it also makes for a fairly elaborate and pretty presentation, worthy of a special occasion.

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