African Fish

Of all the favorite foods I thought I’d be favoring in France, the food I least expected to leave the strongest impression was a fish. That was, until I ate this fish.

The impression it proceeded to leave upon me was unparalleled to that of any fish I have ever eaten before.  And this was not only because it was ridiculously delicious, but also because this special meal was served by an accommodating and friendly couple, shared in magnificent company, and we felt as if we were dining upon hidden treasure.

Based on the lack of customers on a Saturday night, I couldn’t help but be surprised this place was still in business.  But then again, based on the deliciousness of the food and the friendliness of the proprietors, I couldn’t help but be surprised that there wasn’t a line of people out the door.  So as a general consensus, I was surprised concerning all aspects of this business which epitomized the concept of a hidden gem.

As another general consensus, this was seriously one of the best meals of my life thus far.  And therefore, it deserves a thorough recounting.  An explanation of how we ended up at this inconspicuous african restaurant is in order.  Two weeks into our stay in Nice, we met a girl from sweden at school and she invited us to eat delicious fish.  Of course, we agreed to go.  She had been first introduced to the restaurant by an african guy who had attended the school earlier, and now the recommendation was being taken up by six new people (me and my travel companion, and four other students from the school).  That Friday night, now what seems so long ago, was a revolutionary fish and dining experience and I admonished myself for not bringing my camera.  I promised myself I would return and take an obscene amount of pictures.

This past Saturday, I did just that.  Weeks after that first dinner we returned as a slightly different group of six, composed of some of the funniest, friendliest, and kindest people who I’m so happy to call my friends.  The proprietress recognized us and greeted us with friendly acknowledgment.  Of course, we’d all be having the fish.  In addition we ordered a bottle of each red and white wine.  This was going to be a good dinner.

We were served a drink on the house, of which I can’t remember the name now, but that was like a sweet, pink, ginger juice.  In fact, it was sweet, pink, ginger juice.  And it was delicious.

What followed was an unnecessary amount of picture taking, laughter, knife fighting, fork intervention, more laughter, some more picture taking, peanut snacking, and before we knew it the time to eat fish had arrived.

We descended upon each of our fish, frantically picking apart the tender white flesh from bone, savoring each bite of crispy skin, devouring everything from head to tail.  Literally.  Turns out fish tails are like a crispy fish chip.  And fish eyes taste… well, fishy.  The mountain of salsa served atop the fish was fantastically fresh and ever so perfectly spiced.  And the three accompaniments (rice, some unidentified but delicious grain-like stuff, and plantains) formed a delicious sort of love square between themselves and the fish.  Oh and if you were wondering what kind of fish it was, all I can tell you is that it was fish of the delicious sort.  I was too busy enjoying it to bother to ask.

Likewise, I’ve been too busy enjoying the company of the friends we’ve made here to think about the fact that we depart Nice this Saturday.  I’m anticipating that we’ll be busy seeing the sights we haven’t yet seen, eating the things we haven’t yet eaten, destroying what’s left of our livers, and seeing the most of the people we’ve come to love in the next few days leading up to our fated day of departure.  So, I’d like to bid you a bittersweet farewell, Nice.  May we meet again one day (not too far in the future).  And thanks for the fish.

The Best Roast Chicken

Today, I ravenously ripped apart and devoured half of a roasted chicken with my bare hands.  It was the best roast chicken I have ever had.  Ever.  That’s 18 years.  18 years is a lot of roast chickens.

Of all the places I’d expect this roast chicken to come from (a familiar oven, an acclaimed restaurant, a professional chicken roaster) it came from the place I expected the least – a small halal corner market in Nice, France.  In fact, I hadn’t expected that at all.   I didn’t even know Nice had so many halal markets until two days ago.  This chicken might as well have slapped me in the face with its little crispy roasted wings, that’s how surprised I was.

that there is some delicious chicken, a half of the roasted tomato, a bit of the spice “stuffing,” and some sauteed fennel made with an abandoned bulb we found in the fridge.

We came across the market just yesterday, passing by on our way back to the apartment we caught the alluring waft of spices and, could it be?  Yes, it was the hauntingly delicious smell of roasted chicken.  And at the exact moment we knew we would be back as soon was humanly possible.  For an entire 12 hours, our thoughts were reduced to that of roasted chicken.  Nothing would deter us.  Unless the shop was closed.  On account of it being Sunday.

this was ripped apart by hands.

But our craving for chicken was meant to be fulfilled!  We instinctively turned right onto the street that would bring us to salvation from our tortured thoughts, and amongst the empty streets of shuttered doors and windows was the shop.  It was open.  And then the clouds parted and the sun shone and we paid the 12.86 euros and walked home with our roasted chicken in a plastic bag.

today, I ate half of a chicken.

The skin was so crisp it might as well have been roasted on the sun.  Why don’t people sell chicken skin like they do chicharrones?  And the chicken breast, condemned as it is to always being slightly dry, was marvelous with the accompanying juicy roasted tomato. With the sacrifice of juiciness on the part of the breast meat, the dark meat was like that of some sort of godlike chicken.  All hail the chicken gods (I really hope that’s not offensive)!  Oh, and the perfume of the spices.  I’d bathe in that smell if it were possible.

I even made chicken stock with the leftovers.  I’ve never made chicken stock before.  That’s how good this chicken was.

It was the best roast chicken I have ever had.

Pain Perdu

I can’t talk about how we made pain perdu without talking about the dinner we had the night of our arrival.  Well it was typically what people consider french: baguette, cheese (camembert), wine (because I’m legal to purchase and drink alcohol here! responsibly of course), strawberries, and chocolate.  It was deliciously low-key, something much needed after 12 hours of non-stop travel.

The next morning, when we were contemplating what to have for breakfast, I finally understood.  With the bread we had leftover from the night before, which had now become considerably drier and harder, we would make french toast.  Pain perdu, if you will.  With the revelation of this plan for breakfast, the reason pain perdu exists struck me to the very core of my being.  And as I mixed together an egg, milk, sugar, and vanilla extract and soaked the slices of bread, I felt a deeper connection with my breakfast than I ever had before.  I kid you not.

The bread that was thought to have been lost, had been found.  Within our stomachs.

Gluten Free Mac and Cheese

Included on the list of things to do before I depart for France in 11 days, is of course a list of foods to eat.  Only somebody suffering from a serious obsession puts “eat macaroni and cheese” amongst other important things to do, such as acquiring a power adapter, booking a hostel, buying train tickets from France to the UK, and packing.  I am not ashamed.  Enjoying carbs coated in creamy cheesy goodness and studded with the occasional crunchy edge piece is obviously just as important as packing for five months abroad.  Duh.

Oh yeah, did I mention that a friend and I are leaving the country in 11 days to experience the marvels of France, Germany, and the UK?  Yeah, that’s happening.  Against my better judgment, I started packing a few days ago and now it feels all too real, especially because most of my clothing is no longer easily accessible.  And as the contents of my closet dwindle, so do the days I have left to get all that important stuff I mentioned done.  Being able to check “eat macaroni and cheese” off the list is a huge relief.  I was starting to get really worried I wouldn’t get to it.  But in all seriousness, I’ve still got people to email, places to book, dates to establish, and loads more to pack.  And on top of all that I still have find time to eat ribs.  I simply cannot leave North America without eating ribs.  I also have to consult my people to see if I can fit fried chicken into my busy agenda.  My goodness, my life is so demanding.

Word of advice, if you’ve got loads of things to do, add “eat mac and cheese” to the list.  It may make make your life more demanding, but also far more delicious.

Gluten Free (because it’s still january and I’m sticking to my agenda) Macaroni and Cheese

Ingredients

• 12 oz gluten free elbow macaroni
• 12 oz shredded cheese, of any variety you desire (I used 8 oz of cheddar and 4 oz of smoked cheddar)
• 2 1/2 cups milk (I only happened to have almond milk on hand so that’s what I used but whole milk would usually be the first I’d reach for)
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 2 tablespoons gluten free all purpose flour
• salt and pepper
• pinch of paprika

Preparation

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and lightly oil a 9×13 inch casserole pan.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.  Add the macaroni and cook according to the directions on the package.  Drain and run under cold water to stop the cooking.
3. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat.  Add the flour and cook a few minutes until the roux darkens, stirring constantly with a whisk.
4. Slowly add the milk, whisking to ensure a smooth sauce.  Then add the shredded cheese a couple of handfuls at a time, mixing for a smooth consistency.
5. Add in salt, pepper, and a pinch of paprika to taste.
6. Pour the mixture into the prepared pan and bake for 40-45 minutes.  I cranked up the heat to broil for the last few minutes to get a golden brown top.
7. Let cool 10 minutes or risk injuring yourself on molten cheese.
8. Check “eat mac and cheese” off your list of things to do.  Doesn’t productivity feel great?

Boston Local Food Fe(as)tival

As always, when placed in the midst of a sea of delicious food my sense of control is completely replaced by the ravenous desire to eat anything and everything that resembles food.

And that is exactly what happened at the Boston Local Food Festival the October 1st of the year 2011.

that's me in the pink

apple spice cinnamon donut muffin.

cranberry lady

well if you insist it's for a good cause...

then sure! I'd love some incredibly creamy and delicious custard.

plain and simple: bacon slab sandwich.

butternut squash taco.

hardcore cranberry juice.

 

irresistible after a long day of eating.

Can’t wait till future festivals!  Thanks Boston!