"Feed the Birds - Tuppence a Bag"

My brother Joseph: "Keen, are you blogging about how you suck at feeding the bird?"

Me: "Yes Joseph."

Mom: "She's blogging about how she keeps me young by giving me extra work to do."

THE SCREENPLAY:

18.45: Mom asks me to feed the family bird who is starving. 

18.46  Bird: "I'm starving."

KIDDING. This is our bird: 

BIRD: "Yo. It's feeding time. You know what to do". ... (Or do I)

THE PLOT THICKENS


18.48 Dutiful daughter goes to get bird food, opens a new bag - and then this happens:

18.51: Typical.

18.52: Let's get a close up of that. This is abstract art baby. ABSTRACT.

18.54: Then I move the bag to try and catch the seeds, and this happens.. PERFORMANCE ART BABY!

18.55: Mom steps in to try and clean up the mess. Because I'm 12.

19.00: I've moved on. 

Mom isn't even mad - she's DISAPPOINTED.
And even worse - the seeds got stuck in the sifter and now she's trying to unblock it with a knife.
It's 19.04.

FIN

Mom's World

Greetings from Canada.

As we enter another kitchen...

Mom's.

My mother can drive me nuts, but at the end of the day I'm crazy about her - and she is such a HUGE inspiration for me. When she does something - she goes all the way and has taught me the same. In almost everything: school, art, music, dance, sport, work, everything - with of course the exception of the kitchen ; )

Perfect homemade meatballs. 

Perfect homemade cookies. 

Perfect homemade cookies stored in old fashioned Christmas cookie containers. 

Perfect little deer decorations lit up in the backyard (grazing in the snow).

In case we forgot that Christmas is about the birth of baby Jesus - Mom has no less than five nativity scenes strategically placed throughout the house. I bring you - what everyone always wants to see.. the baby!

Jesus glued to the nativity scene and being watched over by two cows.

Jesus handed down from Nana. RIP Nana.

Jesus bought from an expensive store. Can't say where, Dad will get upset when he finds out he cost $200.

Mexican baby Jesus. I got him and his family from Guadalajara.

Who could this little glass baby be? JESUS.

and for the finale..... tonight Mom asked me to set the oven timer for 15 minutes... A short while later she asks - "Caterina, why has this only gone down a few seconds?? Oh, it's because you set it to 

15 hours!!!"

Merry Christmas : ) !

Hugs from Canada - one of the best places in the world to spend Christmas - and then leave before the six months of ice and snow drive you mad.

Cold, Hard, Reality

Mom Shows Me How It's Done for the #76545676 Time

I know I haven't been blogging - I'm just getting bored with the whole cooking thing. It's not sticking. It's exhausting. ugh, I'm whining I know. On top of that, I'm not even in Franck's Kitchen anymore - I'm in my Mom's and she doesn't even think I know how to properly wash lettuce.


What's the point of even trying. 


And then today, after waking up at 5am and going to work at her super important/stressful job - she came home, made coq au vin, a tiramisu and then at 8 when I was using the "I'm jet lagged" excuse to not clear the dishes and go to bed, she announced - I'm going to the basement to work out and then iron for an hour.

No, you don't go from the below cake to this in a week. You go from the below cake to your mother's house and try and forget about the past while diving head first into pure sin.

Let Them Eat Cake

And now for another disaster...signed the Anti-Chef.

Sunday morning... who doesn't like the idea of waking up to the smell of a fluffy cake cooking in the oven? And so, with my heart in the right place and my head somewhere out in left field, I emptied the pack of cake mix (don't judge me) into the pan and slid it in the oven. Timer said 45 minutes, easy enough. Except I didn't see the fine print, which read: Cooking time 45 minutes, but if this is Caterina - stand beside the oven because you will surely manage to screw even this up. Next thing I know, the house is full of smoke, and Franck is waking up screaming "Merde! Merde!" and there I am, with my burnt cake in my hands, cursing "Les recettes Bonne Maman" under my breath. 

To make matters worse, with the onset of cold weather, I'm morphing into a tea drinking yuppy and have been trading in my Louboutins for slippers. Glerups to be precise.  Made in Denmark, these booties are felted in pure, natural wool. I picked them up at my favourite Scandinavian boutique in Paris' St. Paul neighbourhood. Sexy ja?

Tisk, TISK!

et Merde. This happens to me every single time. What is the point of putting these things if they always tear off before doing their job! Frustraaaaaation!!!!! 

Deep breaths Cat, deep breaths. 

Dog's Breakfast

Franck is off in Denmark for the week, and I'm starting to get hungry. Whenever I'm not here, he says that he basically stops cooking and whenever he's not here, my diet turns to pasta, cheese, bread, (and cookies!). Cooking for one is never inspiring, but luckily - I have a dog to take care of!  

Presenting Emile. He's kind of like a skinny model - "I eat all the time, whatever I want, and never get fat." Ha! Of course, Emile doesn't like regular dog food, so tonight, he will be served pasta mixed with hamburger meat.  He is an Italian greyhound after all.

Hiatus

Wowza. 

I realise that I haven't posted in almost a month - but what can I say - I needed a break from cooking once a week. I've spent the past while back and forth between Abu Dhabi and Dubai - living the good life and eating in restaurants night after glorious night. You know how sometimes you miss a home cooked meal? Well, sometimes I miss two weeks of non-stop eating out. And when I say eating out - I mean dress your best, jump in a waiting Mazarati, check your coat (Kidding! Weather was gorgeous in the UAE) dive into prawns, sea bass, and sake, and order everything off the menu that you can't pronounce. Dubai is all about working hard and working it harder. Now I'm back in grey, rainy Paris and staring at Franck's Kitchen like it's a foreign, inanimate object. I am going to need to get my mojo back and start getting inspired again. Though I won't be cooking this evening as Friday night Parisian life is calling me - I will be slipping on these Louboutins. Yes ladies, Christmas came early. Back from Dubai and three pairs richer. (Bank account is a whole lot poorer.) But the morale is high and sometimes that's all that matters.

A Personal Post

Breakfast...

As much as I would love to go on about how I owe my fantastic figure to starting the day off with yogurt, freshly cut up fruit, and a warm cup of green tea; it's really actually down to great genes and kick starting the day with a café and chocolate biscuits (followed by a daily dose of wine, cheese and bread).


I never could stand waking up to a massive spread on the table for breakfast... you know, when people empty out everything in their fridge and cupboards and display it on the table like it's Christ's Last Supper: breads, cheeses, meats, eggs, juices, five types of cakes... just seeing all that food early in the morning makes me positively sick. 


Life is complicated enough that I like to keep to keep my mornings simple with a warm coffee, a bit of milk, and a few classic biscuits (nothing too fancy, elaborate and commercial). 


I have tried tea... but you need to drink several pots of the stuff to get the whole 'it's so good for you' effect - which by the way, you also get if you eat just one apple a day - and that comes minus the yellow teeth. (Yes, tea drinkers, your teeth are yellow and mine are going red from all the wine). Sure everything that surrounds tea is lovely: the cups, the smells, the visions of India, the rituals, but frankly, nothing compares to a shot of espresso. 


Once I was smitten for a man - and then in the morning he asked for 'tea please' and I had to leave him because I henceforth considered him a pansy. I know that may sound horrible, but what can I say, I'm half Sicilian. 

When is it OK to cheat?

When it's with an Italian - 'ovviamente'. 

Sauces from La Favorita

My girlfriend Julie Brassard (see below), came over for dinner last week (a dinner that Franck made) - and, inspired by this blog, brought me sauces from La Grande Epicerie - which is, Paris' haute couture destination for food. I never go there. 
But that's besides the point...introducing products by La Favorita! The Anti-Chef (moi) suggests that you serve them in a bowl to accompany toast as an appetizer or as a sauce to accompany a pasta or meat dish. When your hubby compliments you and asks about the sauce, smile demurely and say, "Thanks amore, it's an old recipe from Nonna."  If you don't have a Nonna, say, "Thanks amore, it's an old recipe from Caterina's Nonna." (You can borrow mine, she's lovely). No one will know you are cheating, because everyone knows that Nonnas always have the best recipes.  

Julie: another beauty and great chef.  This woman however is not a cheater. A few years ago, we were both in Montreal for a big meeting and instead of afterwards ordering pizza, she came back to the office a few hours later with an exceptional dinner that she had prepared for everyone. All of a sudden the table cloth was laid and it was Thanksgiving in the middle of June. On a work night. Yes ladies. A work night. I was stunned and felt highly inadequate. Needless to say her hubby won't be looking elsewhere. 

Salmon and Maple Syrup

As you can see from the above title, this meal I made last week combines two things I love deeply: salmon and maple syrup.

A well-balanced meal: salmon, skinny spaghetti (numéro 1), green beans and red wine from Chinon. Everyone says drink white with fish, but I find that the red brings out the flavour of the maple syrup.

As you know (or don't), maple syrup is a Canadian delicacy... it's a syrup made from the red sap of sugar maple, red maple or black maple trees. In cold climate areas (ie. Canada) these trees store starch in their stems and roots before the winter. This is then converted to sugar and rises in the sap in the spring. Quebec produces most of the world's supply of maple syrup.  No, that didn't just come from the top of my head, I copied it from Wikipedia.

Canadian maple syrup. Bottled like a fine wine.

I have always enjoyed maple syrup, sometimes, when I'm feeling homesick for Canada (yes, it does happen), I go to the fridge, and take a shot of the good stuff. You may think that's gross or unhygienic, but it's no different from sticking your finger in a nutella jar when you think no one's looking. Moving on.

Franck and I were in Toronto a while back visiting my friend Laura - I've added a picture of her below because she's gorgeous and who doesn't like looking at pretty women, especially on a Monday morning when you'd rather be anywhere but back at work. Not only is she a classic beauty, but she is also one of the best chefs I know.  While we stayed with her, Laura made us killer mojitos every night, and also barbecued salmon with a maple syrup dressing which was delicious. I had never tasted this before, and last week decided to give it a shot on my own. Admittedly, it wasn't as good as Laura's, but it was still yummy, which is a great reminder that there is hope for all of us. There were many recipes online, check the one I found below.

Laura Boag. Beauty and Chef Extraordinaire. Please come visit us soon.

From All Recipes:

Ingredients

• 1/4 cup maple syrup 
• 2 tablespoons soy sauce
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1/4 teaspoon garlic salt 
• 1/8 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1 pound salmon
• 
  

1. In a small bowl, mix the maple syrup, soy sauce, garlic, garlic salt, and pepper.
2. Place salmon in a shallow glass baking dish, and coat with the maple syrup mixture. Cover the dish, and marinate salmon in the refrigerator 30 minutes, turning once.
3. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F (200 degrees C).
4. Place the baking dish in the preheated oven, and bake salmon uncovered 20 minutes, or until easily flaked with a fork.

We accompanied this dish with a bottle of red 'Chinon' and Jacqueline Du Pré's Elgar Cello Concert.

An unbelievable concerto performed by one of the world's best cellists who tragically died of MS at 42. See this video. Her husband is the conductor. The concerto is fantastic, I think I will buy the music for violin, because learning this concerto will be less daunting than cooking stew. 


And now - the shoes:

Red shoes: a fashion don't

A shot from the one night I dared wear them out. As you can see they look fluorescent.
A big mistake.

I bought these in Dubai, and it was definitely a fashion no. Whenever I'm in the UAE, I tan and wear  bright colours to match the sun. When I saw these red shoes I thought, "Oh, how cute will my slender legs look in little white shorts and these red shoes on a yacht." Wrong, wrong, wrong. First of all, when on a yacht, you remove your footwear. Secondly, contrary to what you think, red shoes look good on no one. Red boots neither. So there I am at the party when my Emirati, Cavalli-loving girlfriend  turns to me and says, habibti, why red? Shouldn't you have worn navy? In that instant - I knew she was right. Contrary to what people (and myself included) might think, red shoes only belong on Dorothy and only for a few minutes, when she wants to go home, and that's it. Any other circumstance is just 'haram'.


Reason? If you wear red shoes, people don't look at your face, they look at your feet - because they are just so bright. Hit by the force of blinding colour, one can't look away. Instead of being sensual, red shoes just stand out too much and make you look all off balance. The viewer gets confused and embarrassed because he feels like his eyes are magnetised to your feet and will eventually turn away and leave. 


So now I only wear these shoes indoors when I cook salmon.

Until next time, your Anti-Chef. xx

RIP Cocotte

Go to www.seb.fr to see why you should get this. They're expensive though
- who knew pots and pans could be so pricey.

....and just when things couldn't get any worse. The cocotte minute (also known as the vertebrae of Franck's Kitchen) broke 5 minutes before the duck was ready. Oh cocotte..... - for 15 years you have prepared so many wonderful meals for Franck, for me, and for Franck's ex-girlfriends. And now, you too, will make your way to the door and down the path of no return. 

Tomorrow, we will spend money that could go elsewhere (like dinner in a restaurant, for example) on a new cocotte.  Sigh, can't wait for Saturday.

Onions + eyes + wanna be Oakley's = cry no more

In other news, an old school mate from high school, we'll call her 'Chantal' who is reading this blog just sent me a link to purchase the above glasses/goggles. Thanks Chantal, now I will no longer have any excuse not to cut the onions!  Go to Ashton Greene to learn more. Damn you Ashton Greene!

Vodka Cream Sauce for Penne Pasta

                  

Parmeggiano cheese is obviously the best sprinkler for any pasta, but Franck said that it wasn't visible enough for the picture so he garnished it with Elemental grated French cheese. Tsk.

I love pasta. I grew up on the stuff. Mom knows how to make so many homemade sauces - and one of my favourites is pasta alla vongole (clam sauce) - but I've never tried cooking that.


Looking for an easy pasta sauce online, I came across Vodka Cream Sauce for Penne Pasta. Genius. Who doesn't like vodka? The ingredients were basic enough (meaning, I understood what they were):

Ingredients
butter (just a knife slice for the pan)
2 garlic cloves
1 onion
basil leaves
tomato purée
hot pepper flakes
soup spoon of sugar
several soup spoons of heavy cream
salt and pepper
2 shots of vodka (one per person, but I put 5 shots)
penne
*It says that you can also add chicken to this dish, but I of course, didn't take that option.

How to cook it:
Heat butter in a pan over a medium heat. Sauté the garlic and onion. I found that the butter was used up too quickly and that the garlic and onion were burning, so I added olive oil, yes I also thought to turn down the element, but it was an afterthought. Add tomato purée and then the basil leaves (I didn't bother cutting them and they look nicer and tasted better whole) and pepper flakes. After the tomato has simmered add a soup spoon of sugar to get the acidity out. Also add a bit of salt and pepper... add the vodka shots (go heavy). Then about 25 minutes into it, add the cream until the sauce is a nice pinky colour. Boil water, add penne - cook it 'Al Dente' for the love of all things holy, drain and voilà.

Add parmeggiano cheese, more basil to garnish and "Buon appetito baby".

This was dish was easy enough and tasted great.


I have to be honest. I didn't wear heels. I know, I'm disappointed too. But let me put it this way, Franck was lucky I even cooked that night. ;)
Pasta always puts me in a fantastic mood though - and it always appears to be the centrepiece for an incredible atmosphere. 

Kirk Douglas and Sofia Loren enjoying spaghetti

Marcello Mastroianni

Ancora la Loren

When The Recipe Calls for Two Shots - GIVER FIVE!

Tomorrow's blog post: Adding Vodka to your penne in red, Betty Boop heels. Stay tuned.
-the Anti-Chef

And Now, I Bring You: The Importance of Nice Flatware - signed The Anti-Chef

This perfect fork is part of the Vicenza line I invested in from Guy Degrenne Paris. It looks like a harp and is perfectly balanced.

I love my table knife, but I
I am disappointed with the logo
showing.

Baby, I may not know how to cook food, but I sure know and recognise the beauty of a properly designed fork. 

This brings me to share with you my passion for nice flatware. I was introduced to flatware or 'cutlery' at a very early age - my Mother, not wanting to let me near the kitchen, designated the setting of the table as my job. I loved our Christmas' and Thanksgivings, that's when she brings out all the big guns. The gorgeous crystal - 4 glasses per table set (Champagne, white wine, red wine, water), individual silver salt and pepper shakers, porcelain serviette holders and silver swan knife rests to name a few of her treasures. 

These days, as we approach our thirties, many of my girlfriends are also getting ready for the big day - and many will be adding flatware to their wedding registries - but I say, don't wait until a man proposes to buy yourself a nice knife and fork. It's something you put in your mouth for Pete's sake - it should at least be how you like it. I would go further with that thought, but this is a G-rated blog. (wink).

Moving on. Flatware is also referred to as 'utensils' - but being a musicienne, I like to refer to them as 'Instruments'... So, the question is, "Would you buy a piano from Ikea?" No. Well your fork shouldn't come from there either. Invest in nice flatware, and you'll stick with it for at least 10 years. 

When making your selection - think about the woman.. the woman has dainty, small hands, the woman has a small mouth (generally) so no use in buying aggressive looking forks and big round spoons that hurt or overstretch the insides of your cheeks. And don't just look at the pieces, hold them, see how how they catch the light, and feel the weight and smoothness of the tool in your hand. 

Because at the end of the day - a lady will give the same attention to your flatware as she does to your overcooked chicken.

'Pure and slender' , my gourmet knife steak shows its personality through its tensed and round lines.' Seriously. It does. 

The man - will likely not even notice the fork or knife and will just dive into the food. 

Two years ago, I invested in this Guy Degrenne flatware featured here - they don't call it 'art de la table' for nothing. Another favourite is Christofle - but their 'Instruments' tend to be on the bulky side. 

While I'm at it, I also suggest a mirror finish - it looks very elegant under candlelight. 

When testing violin bows, I look for something strong, balanced, durable, straight and not too light nor too heavy in my hand. I apply the same rules when investing in flatware.  

Franck's Soupe à l'Oignon (French Onion Soup)

Yesterday Franck had a long day, travelling to and from Versailles for meetings, and so, I thought - tonight, I will cook for my cheri.

Like the loving wifey in training, I flashed an assured smile and clutching a list marched my way over to the grocery, repeating over and over in my head my mantra, "Grocery shopping is still shopping and can be fun."

The evening's menu: Franck's French Onion Soup... the day had been cold and grey, and soup always makes things better. Right?

WRONG!!!

Next thing I know, I'm in Franck's Kitchen, tears streaming down my face, literally sobbing my eyes out trying to get through cutting 7 onions.

It turns out that this whole 'onions make you cry' saying is not a myth!!! 

Try cutting onions wearing contacts - it's just impossible. Franck took one look at me, the vision of patheticness, swooped into the kitchen, swapped my knife with a glass of cold, white wine, shooed me out of his kitchen and finished the onion soup himself. 

(Note to self - if I want to get out of cooking, crying works.)

Feeling guilty, I made a salad and added an avocado to be exotic. 

As per usual - the soup was great, anyone who knows Franck can attest that his cooking is divine. 

Here is his recipe. If you're wearing contacts, I suggest switiching to glasses prior to cutting up the onions. Or just get someone else to do that job. 

Franck's French Onion Soup

Serves two with leftovers, maybe more, I mean it depends how much you eat.

4 big onions or 7-8 of the puny French onions

50 grams of semi-salt butter

a soup spoon of flour
1.5L water

salt, pepper

bread - grilled

shredded cheese 'Elemental' - lots of it

Melt the butter in a cocotte minute (pressure cooker)

Add the cut up onions
Add the water and the salt and pepper

Sprinkle the flour

Turn the pressure cooker to 'One' and when it starts to whistle, turn the heat down and let it cook for 15 minutes

In the meantime, grill the bread in the oven, then add to the soup which is now in the bowl

Add the shredded cheese and put back in the oven for a few minutes.

Pair this with a bottle of cold, white wine, we chose a Saint-Joseph 2009, and summer heels. Anna Dello Russo tells us that we should wear evening clothes during the day; I say, when the weather outside is yucky, wear a pair of summer heels around the house.  

Summer heels and flower patterned pants, the perfect antidote to a soggy September day in Paris.