Illustration by MelinArt.

This is part of a series on French idiomatic expressions that relate to food. Browse the list of idioms featured so far.

This week’s expression is, “Papa gâteau.”

Literally translated as, “cake daddy,” it is used to qualify a doting father, one who’s affectionate and good-natured, and possibly one who allows his children to wrap him around their little finger every once in a while.

Example: “Il n’a jamais été très branché bébés, mais depuis qu’il en a un, c’est un vrai papa gâteau.” “He’s never been big on babies, but now that he has one, he’s a real cake daddy.”

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

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You’ve likely heard of Maldon sea salt, an English salt that comes in large, pyramid-shaped, flaky crystals, a format that makes them both very pretty, and easy to pinch and crush and sprinkle.

The Maldon Salt Company is a fourth-generation family business that’s celebrating its 130th anniversary this year, and they’ve invited me to participate in the Desert Island Dishes campaign* they’ve launched to mark the occasion.

The idea is to ask chefs and home cooks to play this little parlor game: “You wake up and find yourself on an empty beach; a castaway on a desert island**. Water is in good supply and there’s a handy cave for shelter just around the corner. Food is what you’re worrying about. Luckily, you’ve been given the miraculous option to create any dish in the world. The catch is: you’re stuck with it.” What would that dish be?

I love this sort of game, and in fact, we play a similar one on roadtrips with Maxence. (“If you could only watch a single movie for the rest of your life, would it be… Scarface or Blade Runner?” or “If you could only pick one vacation destination for the rest of your life, would you choose… Japan or Italy?” It’s as much fun to come up with the questions as it is to ponder one’s options.)

So I was happy to play along, and my answer — “Pasta with radish greens, briefly sautéed with garlic, topped with toasted almonds and a pinch of Maldon Sea Salt” — is printed on the side of Maldon Salt boxes now up on grocery store shelves across the UK, which is fun to think about.

{Read on for the contest details!}

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For this new installment of our Draw Me A Fridge series (read about it here), Alexia met with Professor Hervé This.

Hervé This (pronounced “tiss”) is an internationally renowned physico-chemist, a professor at the AgroParisTech institute, and the only person to hold a doctorate in molecular gastronomy, a cutting-edge field he co-created with Nichola Kurti. (See also: Notes from the moleculat gastronomy conference.)

A long-time accomplice to famed French chef Pierre Gagnaire, a popular French television personality, and a bestselling cookbook author, he uses the latest research in the chemistry, physics, and biology of food to challenge traditional ideas about cooking and eating.

Amongst his many projects, he has been commissioned by the Ministry of Education to create cooking workshops in French primary schools, and he is tirelessly determined to reinvent the way we cook. At the time of our meeting, Professor This was on his way to Canada to introduce his concept of “note by note cooking” or, in his own words, “the world’s next culinary trend” (more information on his blog). His latest, just-released book is called La Cuisine note à note en douze questions souriantes.

AC: What are your fridge staples?

HT: My wife laughs about the fact that there is always a piece of smoked lard to be found in the fridge, even though the lard is smoked and salted precisely so that it can be kept outside of a fridge!

My fridge is actually really, really, packed. On the top shelf, I keep all sorts of homemade preparations such as chutneys (that could be kept outside the fridge as well), harissa, ketchup, and ginger preserves.

The freezer is also very crowded. In it you’ll find meat filling for pâté vosgien* since I always make too much of it. You will also find small containers of stock from pork trotters Sainte-Ménehould [an age-old specialty made of pork trotters that have been bound and slow-cooked in white wine, with herbs and spices] that has cooked for over four days. The result is a stock so tasty that just a teaspoonful is enough to bring flavor to any dish.

AC: That sounds good.

HT: You bet. I make a mean pork trotters Sainte-Ménehould! Oh, you will also find a bottle of vodka.

But back to the fridge… I keep dried tomatoes in oil (baked at 95 degrees Celsius and preserved in olive oil with lemon juice, salt, sugar, thyme, and rosemary); lemons preserved in salt; homemade pissalat [a condiment from Nice made with puréed anchovies, flavored with cloves, thyme, bay leaf and black pepper, and mixed with olive oil] of which I made three kilos — I should have enough for years since I only use a tiny bit at a time.

In the door of the fridge, I keep poutargue [a.k.a. bottarga, a sort of fish spawn pickle preserved in salt, also known as the “Mediterranean caviar”], capers, unsalted butter and salted butter, fat from foie gras, and a garlic saucisson.

You will also find foie gras that was cooked in the dishwasher (in a Ziploc bag closed with paper clips with a mix of white wine, port, salt and pepper). Obviously, we also have eggs, and yogurts for the whole family.

Right now, you will also find two small terrines, one with a beautiful bread dough that I had to retard because it was proofing too quickly, and the other one for an Arabic-style bread. There is also a shrimp curry — for tomorrow probably –, shrimp bisque after a typical regional recipe from Charentes, and an asparagus and watercress soup.

You would also find Laughing Cow cheese wedges, because they melt well and are quite handy to have. Also, some crottins de Chavignol [a goat cheese produced in the north-west part of the Sancerre wine region] that have been in there for ages.

And I always keep fruits and veggies on the countertop.

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In the midst of the August heatwave, Maxence and I sat at a dappled table of a restaurant in Urdax, a pretty village in the Spanish Basque country, and ordered gazpacho.

It was brought to us in white ceramic bowls, with a side plate of toppings to sprinkle in — cucumbers, green bell peppers, and onions, all of them finely diced, flakes of serano ham, and tiny croutons — and we slurped it all down thirstily.

The nostalgic remembrance of this beautifully quenching tomato soup inspired me to make an easy gazpacho at home with one of the last batches of sun-kissed, ripe-to-bursting, fleshy tomatoes I got this summer.

Usually, when I lay my hands on excellent tomatoes, which is hard enough to do in Paris without taking out a mortgage, I tend to eat them simply, à la croque-au-sel (sliced and sprinkled with salt) or in very elemental tomato salads, dressed with a good olive oil, a touch of balsamic vinegar (I like the one from Beaumes-de-Venise I get from Première Pression Provence), a scatter of fresh herbs, and possibly a spoonful of black tapenade stirred in.

But the nostalgic remembrance of this beautifully quenching tomato soup inspired me to make it at home with one of the last batches of sun-kissed, ripe-to-bursting, fleshy tomatoes I got this summer.

To make this easy gazpacho I worked with the ingredients I had on hand, and therefore skipped the cucumber, which is often added, but wasn’t missed. And for practicality‘s sake, I opted to not peel the tomatoes, and to process the soup finely enough that it wouldn’t need sieving. (I also thinned it a little further after taking the above picture.)

It was astonishingly good, fruity and tangy and savory, all qualities a good gazpacho should display, and so gratifying I vowed to make it more often in the future. And after consulting my crystal ball, I saved a few servings in the freezer, in preparation for the gray months ahead.

A final note: some people say a chilled tomato soup that’s thickened with bread loses gazpacho naming rights and becomes a salmorejo; I’ll let you decide what you want to call it. And for a detailed discussion on the gazpacho-making technique, I’ll refer you to Felicity Cloake’s take on How to make perfect gazpacho.

Join the conversation!

What’s your favorite use for those late-season tomatoes? A panzanella, slow-roasted tomatoes, a tomato and einkorn wheat salad, or something else altogether?

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