The Sweet Life in Paris: Delicious Adventures in the World's Most Glorious - and Perplexing - City by David Lebovitz Page B
Authors: David Lebovitz
Tags: Travel, Essays & Travelogues
Ads: Link
reheating them in a covered baking dish, making sure there’s just enough liquid to cover the bottom of the dish.
VARIATIONS: Feel free to play around with the seasonings. Add a handful of chopped fresh ginger or, a big pinch of ground allspice, or replace the orange juice with rosé or even beer.
SALADE DE CHOUX AUX CACAHUETES
PEANUT SLAW
MAKES 6 SERVINGS
Peanuts are a popular snack with drinks in cafés across Paris, but most of the peanut butter around here is found in the homes of Americans. However, Africans and Indians like it as well, and I buy jars of it up near La Chapelle, the lively Indian quarter behind the Gare du Nord.
Resist the temptation to use delicate Napa or leafy Savoy cabbage, both of which quickly get soggy from the peanut dressing. I use a mix of firm green and red cabbage, which I slice as thin as possible. Tossing the salad together at the last minute is essential to preserve the crunch of the cabbage, although the sauce can be made a few hours in advance and mixed with the cabbage and other ingredients right before serving.
¼ cup (65 g) smooth peanut butter
1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon or lime juice, or more to taste 1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon water
½ cup (65 g) roasted, unsalted peanuts
1 small bunch radishes, trimmed and thinly sliced
1 carrot, peeled and coarsely shredded
½ bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, cilantro, or chives, chopped
6 cups (500 g) shredded green or red cabbage
Coarse salt
In a large bowl, mix the peanut butter, garlic, peanut oil, lemon juice, soy sauce, and water until smooth.
Toss in the peanuts, radishes, carrot, parsley, and cabbage, mixing until everything’s coated. Taste, then add a bit of salt and another squeeze of lemon juice, if necessary.
VARIATIONS: Substitute toasted almonds or cashews for the peanuts or swap 1 tablespoon of dark sesame oil for 1 tablespoon of the peanut oil, adding a tablespoon of toasted sesame seeds to the salad.
HOT CHOCOLATE TO DIE FOR
If you’re one of those people who come to Paris craving a cup of the famous rich and thick hot chocolate served up around the city, you’re not alone. Many visitors get a lost, misty-eyed look when describing the ultrathick, steamy
chocolat chaud
that glops and blurts as it’s poured into dainty white cups in places like Angelina and Café de Flore, which serve it forth with great pomp and ceremony.
Me? I can barely swallow the sludge.
You need to clamp my mouth closed and massage my neck to get that hyperthick stuff down the hatch—like forcing a dog to swallow a pill. That throat-clogging liquid hitsmy tummy with a thud and refuses to budge for the rest of the day. I just don’t get its appeal.
Seriously, if I had a
pistole
of chocolate for everyone who asks me where they can find the “best” hot chocolate in Paris, I’d be able to enrobe the Arc de Triomphe. And I’ve learned to stay away from that kind of question, since a guest once asked what “the best chocolate shop in Paris” was. Because I replied that I couldn’t easily name any one in particular as “the best,” a message was posted on an online bulletin board about what a jerk I was for not giving a definitive answer.
But how can I! It’s like going into a wine shop and asking the clerk, “What’s your best wine?”
Each chocolate shop in Paris is unique, so I’d never recommend one as “the best.” I tend to think of them all as my children, each having various and lovable quirks. Nevertheless, we Americans love our lists and even more, we love superlatives; the higher up something is, the more we like it. When the rest of the world wonders why America never adopted the metric system, it’s because it’s not very exciting for us to say, “Oh my God, the temperature’s about to hit 37 degrees!” when we could gasp, “Oh my God, the temperature’s about to hit 100!” And don’t get me started on that
VARIATIONS: Feel free to play around with the seasonings. Add a handful of chopped fresh ginger or, a big pinch of ground allspice, or replace the orange juice with rosé or even beer.
SALADE DE CHOUX AUX CACAHUETES
PEANUT SLAW
MAKES 6 SERVINGS
Peanuts are a popular snack with drinks in cafés across Paris, but most of the peanut butter around here is found in the homes of Americans. However, Africans and Indians like it as well, and I buy jars of it up near La Chapelle, the lively Indian quarter behind the Gare du Nord.
Resist the temptation to use delicate Napa or leafy Savoy cabbage, both of which quickly get soggy from the peanut dressing. I use a mix of firm green and red cabbage, which I slice as thin as possible. Tossing the salad together at the last minute is essential to preserve the crunch of the cabbage, although the sauce can be made a few hours in advance and mixed with the cabbage and other ingredients right before serving.
¼ cup (65 g) smooth peanut butter
1 garlic clove, peeled and finely chopped
2 tablespoons peanut or vegetable oil
3 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon or lime juice, or more to taste 1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon water
½ cup (65 g) roasted, unsalted peanuts
1 small bunch radishes, trimmed and thinly sliced
1 carrot, peeled and coarsely shredded
½ bunch fresh flat-leaf parsley, cilantro, or chives, chopped
6 cups (500 g) shredded green or red cabbage
Coarse salt
In a large bowl, mix the peanut butter, garlic, peanut oil, lemon juice, soy sauce, and water until smooth.
Toss in the peanuts, radishes, carrot, parsley, and cabbage, mixing until everything’s coated. Taste, then add a bit of salt and another squeeze of lemon juice, if necessary.
VARIATIONS: Substitute toasted almonds or cashews for the peanuts or swap 1 tablespoon of dark sesame oil for 1 tablespoon of the peanut oil, adding a tablespoon of toasted sesame seeds to the salad.
HOT CHOCOLATE TO DIE FOR
If you’re one of those people who come to Paris craving a cup of the famous rich and thick hot chocolate served up around the city, you’re not alone. Many visitors get a lost, misty-eyed look when describing the ultrathick, steamy
chocolat chaud
that glops and blurts as it’s poured into dainty white cups in places like Angelina and Café de Flore, which serve it forth with great pomp and ceremony.
Me? I can barely swallow the sludge.
You need to clamp my mouth closed and massage my neck to get that hyperthick stuff down the hatch—like forcing a dog to swallow a pill. That throat-clogging liquid hitsmy tummy with a thud and refuses to budge for the rest of the day. I just don’t get its appeal.
Seriously, if I had a
pistole
of chocolate for everyone who asks me where they can find the “best” hot chocolate in Paris, I’d be able to enrobe the Arc de Triomphe. And I’ve learned to stay away from that kind of question, since a guest once asked what “the best chocolate shop in Paris” was. Because I replied that I couldn’t easily name any one in particular as “the best,” a message was posted on an online bulletin board about what a jerk I was for not giving a definitive answer.
But how can I! It’s like going into a wine shop and asking the clerk, “What’s your best wine?”
Each chocolate shop in Paris is unique, so I’d never recommend one as “the best.” I tend to think of them all as my children, each having various and lovable quirks. Nevertheless, we Americans love our lists and even more, we love superlatives; the higher up something is, the more we like it. When the rest of the world wonders why America never adopted the metric system, it’s because it’s not very exciting for us to say, “Oh my God, the temperature’s about to hit 37 degrees!” when we could gasp, “Oh my God, the temperature’s about to hit 100!” And don’t get me started on that
Similar Books
