simon says french food blog

Sunday night roast chicken

PARIS

By François Simon

This traditional French recipe is a piece of cake. 

Have one child, at least three years old, by your side.  Preferably, he should be standing on a chair, so that he’s about the same height as you.  He’ll have to pay careful attention over the course of several Sundays. Should the mood strike him, he could offer an improvised vocal and hand-clapping musical accompaniment.  As for the chicken, it’s a cinch.  All you’ve got to do is stuff it with a preserved lemon and a little fresh tarragon (NOT an onion).  Then, put it in the oven.  For a long time.  Overcooking (say, an hour and a half) isn’t a problem.  In fact, it might be just the ticket. Undercooking, well…not so good.  There’s nothing worse than a chicken with pink armpits.

On your fourth attempt, ask the child to undertake the preparations.  He slips the lemon and tarragon in the bird’s keister and, with your help, skewers it mercilessly (while emitting, should he so desire, the ferocious cries of his favorite comic book and cartoon characters).  Carry the skewered bird together over to the oven.  You could put a cushion on the ground and sit and watch the bird rotate on the spit.  It’s better than television. As good as a fireplace, anyway.  You could discuss the sauce (grated ginger, balsamic vinegar, honey, coriander, lemon juice, raisins, Muscat, figs….depending on the season).  You could tell each other stories.  Or just sit and watch.  Or maybe even fall asleep, since it’s nice and warm by the oven.

Once the chicken is cooked, the child is under no obligation to eat it.    He can help you slice it, garnish the plates (with, say, coins of varying denominations, chocolate squares, Q-tips, etc.), and serve it.  Believe me, it’s an experience that he’ll never forget.  Neither will you.  Nor, of course, will the chicken.

THE BUTTERED ONE

QUIBERON

By Joe Ray

A Provencal friend of mine who claims to be ‘allergic to butter’ would perish in this town. Good thing she’s not here – more for me! Last night I had wonderful crèpes at La Duchesse Anne where melted butter is brushed on the hot galette (a crèpe made with buckwheat flour) before the ingredients are added and often brushed again before the finished dish goes out to the floor.

This morning, I stopped at the Boulangerie Bihan “Trois Marches” and picked up a pair of kouign amann – Breton for “cake” and “butter,” though they should have also added Breton for “lots of extra sugar,” which caramelizes around the whole thing and makes life good. Though they’re not particularly large, I learned that eating two is a bit like trying to  get through an entrecôte pour deux personnes alone.

Luckily, my arteries and I were up for it. There’s a moment of crunchy, sugary goodness where your teeth stick together, then all at once, the butter gives up the ghost and becomes a liquid, full of so much flavor, I giggle.

Later, on the train back to Paris, I tasted another kouign amann that I brought from Quiberon’s famous Maison Riguidel - touted to be the city’s best. These were excellent – flatter and more cake-like in form, but Boulangerie Bihan’s got them beat, hands down.

SPECIAL NOTE: People of Quiberon, unite! Go to the Boulangerie Bihan (where I found my favorite kouign amann) and encourage the good woman running it not to close the bakery doors for good following the death of her brother the baker – she’s kept on running the bakery, but is talking of shutting it down within a month, taking one of the city’s tiny treasures with her.

Boulangerie Bihan “Trois Marches” 34 rue de Verdun QUIBERON – 02.97.50.14.96 Map

Crêperie Duchesse Anne - 10, Place Duchesse Anne QUIBERON 02 97 30 49 33 Map

Maison Riguidel – 38, Rue de Port Maria, Quiberon. 02.97.50.07.41 Map

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

SARDINE IS NOT A FOUR-LETTER WORD

QUIBERON

By Joe Ray

After three and a half hours on an early train from Paris and another hour on the bus, the idea of sitting around tourists and retirees in a restaurant didn't really float my boat. Returning from a meeting to set up an outing with a gooseneck barnacle fisherman, I walked right in front of the solution: La Belle-Iloise cannery.
Five minutes and a six-can variety pack of sardines later – everything from the little silver fish marinated in muscadet to two peppers, olive oil and lemon – I was in business. Sitting on the seawall, I ate a tin of sardine à la tomate served on pain Poilâne that I smuggled from Paris. Though there's a fierce debate as to whether La Belle-Iloise or La Quiberonnaise makes the better sardine it didn't seem to matter; in the space of five minutes, three people walked by jealously eyeing my picnic and smiling. One guy even offered up a "Bon Appetit!"
On the bus, I had listened to an interview with Alice Waters who extolled the virtues of both cooking and eating with friends, yet here I was, straddling the seawall myself, getting a sense of place from a can.

Joe Ray is the author of the blog, Eating The Motherland and contributes to the Boston Globe's Travel blog, Globe-Trotting

Jean Paul Hevin, Killer Chocolate Mousse

PARIS

By François Simon

Finally - Jean Paul Hevin’s salon de thé has just reopened. And it was an absolute must to be there on the first day to hear the renewed tapping of little spoons! 
You get the idea – a devilishly light milk-chocolate mousse, airy but eminently chocolaty, superb work that evokes the flavor of the cocoa beans. You almost get the impression that the chocolate is lightly perfumed with berries. It isn’t so, in fact – there’s only the chocolate, expressed here in all its purity. It’s a wonderful moment. As for the tarte au chocolat (which will be available soon), one musn’t hesitate to ask for it served warm. That’s when you’ll really lose it. It practically stings; not unlike being slapped in the face. Retreat is no longer an option, by now you’ve been properly enveloped in a wall of chocolate. It’s a funny feeling – the chocolate actually seems to penetrate; a gustatory shock. It’s like being hooked up to a chocolate IV. As good as opium. 
Jean Paul Hevin, 231, rue Saint Honoré, 75001 Paris. Tel : 01.55.35.35.86

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(photo F.Simon).