simon says french food blog

CATALAN CHRISTMAS WISHES, BY WAY OF SICILY

By Joe Ray

BARCELONA

As a holiday card, I had this odd idea of setting the camera on the tripod and hefting the lit Christmas tree so all you'd see would be my arms and jeans, with Guido's painting in the background. Luckily, I remembered the Catalan Christmas connection with La Boqueria Market, which regularly graces the front page of many newspapers here on the 25th.

It also makes a much nicer photo.

Time for a Turkey.

(No, not me, the one in the oven.)

Ho, Ho!

Joe

P.S. - For a Christmas-esque message of peace from Guido, click here.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

WHO NEEDS TEETH IN A HALF-CELLAR OF GOODNESS?

By Joe Ray

BARCELONA

I reconnect with the city a few steps below street level.

We share a little plate of artichokes hearts that are drizzled with olive oil and spritzed with fleur de sel. They’re so tender, you don’t need teeth.

There’s also a little wheel of oil-bathed goat cheese that’s somehow has the wonderful tang of cheddar. We get a bacalao-tomato dish with olives and a separate plate of olives that I’m supposed to share. Oops.

We wipe up our fingers with the ubiquitous useless napkins and wash it down with vermouth and seltzer water.
It’s good to be home.

Count on about 10-20€

La Bodegueta – MAP

Rambla de Catalunya 100

Barcelona

+34 932 154 894

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

The Wepler: I may well go back anyway!

 By François Simon

PARIS

A leisurely visit to the north of Paris, and suddenly, an urge for a seafood platter overwhelms me. I like the Wepler for the atmosphere, but when it comes to seafood, just between you and me, I prefer Garnier, particularly for its oyster bar. When the weather's cold, with a glass of ice-cold Muscadet, it's simply delightful...

At the Wepler, tonight, the seafood platter seemed to take forever to reach our table. A good half hour! As we waited, we emptied the breadbasket, played with the bread and fiddled with the wine bottle. It was a relief when a platter appeared at the end of the aisle. Alas, it was for the table next to ours. When our platter finally did arrive, we were ready to suck on the ice! Having regained our composure, we found the platter was negligent in the discharge of its duties, not brilliantly fresh, a bit apathetic. The langoustines were a bit dry, though they seemed to be dance with their claws spiked to their tushies. The oysters, at least, were spirited and proud to carry the day, while the spiral-shelled whelks were a bit old looking and the shrimp simply unfit for play.

Luckily, the crab was there to liven us up, get us gnawing and fuel our impatience. As for desert, things were much the same: the meringue glacée was icy-cold, but the meringue was practically reduced to powder. As for service, I'd call it a foul. Everything came late. But what really took the cake was the last glass of wine I ordered towards the end of the seafood platter, which arrived… after the bill - where it appeared, of course.

With three kids and a single dessert, it's expensive, quite expensive: 184,30 euros! Want to know the worst part? I may well go back anyway! Sigh…

Wepler, 14, place de Clichy, 75018 Paris (+33) 1.45.22.53.24. Map 

Opportun: reality check

By François Simon

PARIS

When the biting cold starts nipping at Parisian ankles, nothing beats a meal that's fit enough for a barbarian and hearty enough for a Hun to invigorate you. I crave comforting addresses, places where the table is dense, shameless and saucy. Our capital is riddled with these grottos, solidly secured to the rock. But watch out – they mean business. To catch the boss's eye, you have to weigh 200 lbs. and really be able to put it away. That suits me fine...

 The waiter insisted we taste the ravioli salad. My theory is that this was a guileless suggestion, due only to some opportunity at the morning market. We went ahead with the splendidly failed and shriveled ravioli dragging their greasy resentment through an acceptable salad enlivened with pine nuts that almost saved the dish.

The steak tartare is thriving and abundant, appropriately seasoned, catches your attention and proves very tasty. It sticks to its intentions, pirouettes… Extremely pleasant with choice beef from a first class butcher, Hugo Desnoyer. The French fries were hopeless. A disaster. They'd been handled most carelessly and that's no way to treat the fundamentals… A crying shame. It's kind of sad to see a place that collects quality labels and press clippings treat such an easy dish offhandedly, wouldn't you say? Not to mention that it's quite unexpected. The apple tart also has a hard time mustering a semblance of taste. It, too, seemed struck by a sort of loss of consciousness. For 111,50 euros, that's barely passable.

L’Opportun, 62, boulevard Edgar-Quinet, 75014 Paris

+(33)1.43.20.26.89 Map

SOUP, SOAP AND THE PIG’S FOOT

By Joe Ray
PARIS

The “Run Away!” category was designed for meals like this.

A rainy, hungry cold and dark afternoon in Paris called for something warm and reassuring. We almost went for pho in Belleville but my visiting friend suggested soupe à l’oignon (French onion soup) it seemed perfect.

Le Pied de Cochon is a Paris classic dating back to when Les Halles was the mammoth food market I’d give my pinky to have seen, not the current resident: a subterranean shopping mall that both houses and smells like a swimming pool. Restaurant names from the market period were designed with its oft-illiterate workers in mind. If you were looking for the boss who was cutting a deal for broccoli or tossing a couple back, he would be at the Chicken in The Pot, the Bell, The Drum or…the Pig’s Foot.

I was reassured that though the tourists were making up a majority of the customers - particularly as it was only four in the afternoon - there was was also an older, distinguished looking gentleman eating by himself and reading Le Monde dated the following day.

Waiters and waitresses buzzed around, giving the restaurant a wonderful, busy feeling and when the soup arrived, and we breathed in its wonderful smell - a bit reminiscent of Mom’s chicken pot pie - we felt like happy and lucky little kids.

We should have stopped there. The soup tasted like soap.

At least the broth did. I nibbled my way dutifully through the cheese on top, hit the broth, winced, tried again, tried my friend’s broth and then just stopped eating.

I never stop eating.

What’s worse is that this is the traditional food for served in Les Halles, arguably the birthplace of soupe à l’oignon. I tried distracting myself by thinking of the word Francois might use when confronted with something like this, but in the end it was all mine: atrocious.

We split duck confît that arrived cold and limp and when we sent it back for a warm-up, it came back lukewarm and limp.

That was enough. We left.

Count on around 15-30 euros better spent elsewhere.

Au Pied De Cochon - MAP
6 rue Coquillière

75001 Paris

+33 1 40 13 77 00


www.pieddecochon.com

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

Thoumieux: all for the best

By François Simon

PARIS

Jean-François Piège left the Crillon to settle in at Thoumieux armed with an iron will and, more importantly, a palpable desire to do battle with gastronomy. Of course, some of you will once again deplore the Costes style, but what can you do? I find it delightful: pretty girls, and waiters who ply their trade with pride…

The dishes and prices fend for themselves: 10 euros for a warm endive salad with cheese and lightly smoked ham. Right up my alley! Barely "snacked" brill filets and a jardinière from "Joël's" (21 euros). Perfect. Churros and baba au rhum from Millet's, along with cheeses from Bordier's at 8 euros. Banana and lime vacherin that leaves you swinging from the chandeliers…which are attached to a lovely, freshly remodeled 1940's ceiling.

A wine menu worthy of the name, crunchy-crusted quality bread, real napkins… It shouldn't be long before the profession shows up to steal ideas and I'll be only too pleased! Maybe Parisian brasseries will finally be revived, start bubbling over with mirth and attracting the throngs and pretty girls again. Thoumieux's soul had slipped away, but it's back! Surely, this is among the best news of the season.

Hôtel Thoumieux, Jean-François Piège/Thierry Costes.
79, rue Saint-Dominique, 75007 Paris. Phone : +33 1 47 05 49 75.
Open everyday from 12 pm to 2:30 pm and from 7 pm to 10:30 pm, soon to be noon to midnight non-stop. Map

THE CONSECRATED ONION – THE GREAT RIOJA TAPAS CRAWL PART III

By Joe Ray
LOGRONO, Spain

 

"At El Soldado de Tudelilla, get the tomato salad and the little sardine sandwich with sport peppers,*" says Artadi.

We do.

The notes for the little sandwich (a pincho) say "Why don't we eat more sardines in the U.S.A.?"

The question floats into space as I take a bite and flag the stout-bellied barman for a tomato salad which turns out to be the star of the show.

Said barman makes the salad on the bar beneath our noses by plucking a tomato from of the cooler with the wine and the onions and cuts it into bite-sized chunks with a pocket knife. He does the same with the onion.

"This is not just any onion," he says, "This is the white onion of Fuentes de Ebro," which, we'll learn, is more mild than a Vidalia.

"It is a town consecrated to the onion," he says.

He adds a can of still faintly-pink tuna to the plate and drops a few olives over the top before giving the whole thing a shot of vinegar, a 15-count drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of gros sel.

It's a little mountain on a plate that disappears in a heartbeat.

"We're going to be late," I say.

"I don't care," comes the response.

Perfect.

Count on about 10 euros for salad, sardines and a glass of wine or two

El Soldado de Tudelilla MAP
C/ San Agustín 33
Logroño, Spain
+34 941 209 624

*Truth be told, he said "guindilla."

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

CEBAS, C'EST BON – THE GREAT RIOJA TAPAS CRAWL PART II

By Joe Ray

LOGRONO, Spain

 
 

"At bar Cebas, get everything," says Artadi.

Pressed, he mentions a tortilla and the anchovies and the chroizo I immediately burn my mouth on when we get there.

"It's hot!" I warn my friend before burning myself again.

The tortilla is fantastic, I even had a lamb's ear sandwich (!), but the sublime star is a toothpick with a pair of olives and a pair of anchovies sandwiching a guindilla – a pickled green pepper folks in the Midwest would call a sport pepper.

There's vinegar, spicy heat, salt and texture, all at once – it's mind-blowing goodness, especially when coupled with any of the wines on their wonderful list (just scan the wall – it's somewhere near Artadi's picture with the owners).

Count on a few well-spent euros for snacks.

Bar Sebas - MAP
Caille del Albornoz, 3
Logroño, Spain
+34 94 122 0196

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.

MUSHROOM POPS - THE GREAT RIOJA TAPAS CRAWL PART I

By Joe Ray

LOGRONO, SPAIN

In the Rioja, we ask winemaker Juan Carlos Artadi where to go on and around Logroño's Caille del Laurel – a foodie heaven of a street with nothing but tapas bars. Technically, we're in the region for a wine conference, but this is the place that gets my blood racing.

"First, go to Bar Soriano and get mushrooms à la plancha," he says.

It's a shoebox of a place with a mushroom-shaped sign hanging out front, thousands of those useless Spanish napkins littering the floor, three men behind the bar and a heavenly smell.

"Some mushrooms?" I say tentatively, looking for a menu.

"Vamos!" he calls to the man at the griddle, confirming there is no menu. Soriano is a one trick pony I could ride all day.

Moments later, two tiny towers of hollowed-out button mushrooms arrive, undersides facing heaven, cupping their own juices and one tiny shrimp.

"How do you eat them?"

The bartender smiles the gentle smile he must give to all the rookies and motions that we should push the toothpick that holds them together down through the bottom, turning the whole thing into something of a mushroom Push-Up Pop, allowing you to eat them one by one and finish with the juice-soaked bread. Rrrrowww!!!

We're off to a good start...

Bar Soriano MAP

Travesia Laurel 2

Logroño

+34 941 22 88 07 

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the author of the blog Eating The Motherland and contributes to The Boston Globe's travel blog, Globe-trotting.