After weeks of skipping my Saturday morning market run for various reasons, I was finally able to go back to the marché des Batignolles this weekend.

It was the perfect morning for a comeback. I’d awoken early, it was mild and sunny, and as I rode my bicycle down the boulevard in my shower-wet hair, I was seized by that swelling feeling of expectation and accomplishment that makes Saturday morning market runs so addictive: you can’t wait to see what glowing things the market stalls will hold, but whatever you end up buying, you know your weekend is bound to be a fine one after you’ve filled the produce drawer, the star-shaped fruit bowl, and the baby green flower vase.

I got half a dozen fresh-laid and mucky eggs and just as many white peaches, a hefty bundle of rhubarb stalks, a bouquet of orange and crimson dahlias, some ripe-tender tomatoes, and, most excitedly, from my favorite grower, a bunch of small, gleaming, taut-skinned eggplants — my first this year.

The eggplant and I have a bit of a complicated relationship*: I adore it when it’s well cooked, but I’m always suspicious of the oil content when it is. And I’ve long found it tricky to cook right myself — too often it turned out a spongy, bitter mess — so I didn’t eat it nearly as often as I would have liked.

But with time and experience, I have found that a) I have better success cooking small eggplants, no more than 200 grams or 7 ounces each, and b) whether grilled, roasted, or sautéed, these guys need to cook a good long while in order to become the best silky self that they can be.

Tomato salad with roasted eggplant.

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Crémerie photographed in Marseille by Boris Drenec.

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, “Changer de crémerie.”

Literally translated as, “changing creameries,” it means taking your business elsewhere when you’re unhappy with the current (and possibly long-standing) arrangement.

Example: “Certains généralistes se sentent obligés de délivrer des ordonnances même quand ce n’est pas strictement nécessaire, de peur que leurs patients changent de crémerie.” “Some family doctors feel pressured to write prescriptions even when it’s not strictly necessary, out of fear that their patients might change creameries.”

(Cultural note: this sentence is to be understood in the context of France, where patients typically feel that they didn’t get their money’s worth if they come out of the doctor’s office without some kind of prescription. It is one of the factors that explain the considerable deficit of our health system, since the cost of these not-so-necessary medications is covered in part by the sécurité sociale.)

Listen to the idiom and example read aloud:

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My biggest heartache as a temporarily nomadic cook, traveling from kitchen to kitchen while my own is being renovated, is that I’ve had to put my bread baking aspirations on hiatus.

I’d been baking a weekly loaf of pain au levain since I first got my sourdough starter two years ago, so not being able to do so leaves a gaping hole in my routine.

And while my starter Philémon marks the days on the wall inside the fridge (poor thing), I’ve had to go back to bakery-bought bread.

The flavor of this bread is unlike any rye bread I’ve ever had, thanks to the genius pairing of the malty aromas of rye with the umami sweetness of red miso.

You might think that would be bliss, living in Paris and in an arrondissement where bakers win more awards than in any other. But the truth is I’m quite particular about my bread, and we’ve suffered through a few disappointing loaves, including a rapidly staling Paume that had evidently not been baked on the day I bought it.

Fortunately, our friend Gontran Cherrier, whom we’ve known for a few years, had the brilliant idea of opening his bakery right in our neighborhood last December, and his breads have shed a much happier light on our breakfast tartines.

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In preparation for a recent article in ELLE à table, the French cooking magazine in which I write a column, I did some research on the range of ingredients that are derived from the coconut palm.

Beyond the pulp of the fruit (the white flesh that is consumed fresh or dried), its water (the clear liquid inside) and its milk (the liquid you get from pressing or steeping the pulp), I was especially interested in coconut oil, which is widely used in Asian cuisines but hardly ever in French cooking; coconut flour, a cream white powder made from the dried and ground remnants of the pulp after the oil has been extracted; and coconut sugar, an auburn sweetener that is obtained from the sap of coconut flowers.

Various virtues are associated with these products, including the fact that coconut flour is gluten-free, and that coconut sugar has a lower glycemic index than most sweeteners. But in truth, I was much more interested in playing with these new-to-me ingredients.

These muffins are slightly crusty on the outside, with a smooth and satisfyingly dense center, a mouthfeel I would situate somewhere between a cake and a truffle.

As a little challenge to myself, I decided to try and create a recipe that would use all three — coconut flour, coconut sugar, coconut oil* — and came up with these rather stupendous chocolate muffins, which happen to be dairy-free and gluten-free.

I was particularly pleased with the texture: they are slightly crusty on the outside, with a smooth and satisfyingly dense center, a mouthfeel I would situate somewhere between a cake and a truffle.

The coconut flavor is present, but not overwhelmingly so: the coconut oil I got is not deodorized, which I prefer, so it does flavor the muffins, but the effect is quite different from the one you get when you use grated coconut. As for the coconut sugar, it tastes nothing like coconut — it tastes rather like faintly burnt caramel, and who can resist that — and coconut flour is only subtly coconutty.

The batter is very quick to whip up, and I have found that the muffins freeze particularly well (though in these situations what we should say is that they thaw particularly well, since that’s the only part we really care about, no?), making them a worthy option for your emergency treat kit.

I’ll also point out that I’ve been using silicone muffin liners (such as these, though I got mine from Habitat) for a few years, and I am very happy with them. I like the reusability, and the fact that the muffins or cupcakes pop right out of the liner, as opposed to paper liners that always peel off a layer of crumbs from the base of the cakes, kind of like band-aids and body hair.

* All three ingredients can be found at natural food stores or online; I ordered mine from this French site. I recommend you seek out an extra virgin coconut oil, preferably organic, that is neither hydrogenated nor deodorized.

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