Toulouse has redeemed itself, foodwise

"So Toulouse has redeemed itself, foodwise?" asked GD toward the end of our trip, and the answer was definitely "Yes." Much of the redemption was accomplished by the superb Emile's (GD, was this in Place Wilson?). Here the cassoulet was savory and addictive without any particular herb being identifiable, and wonderfully crunchy on top. Gotta work on that crunchy aspect when I try this. I still have the can of goose from last time.

Also at Emile's was the Coupe Mousquetaire, prune-and-armagnac ice cream with a plump boozed-up prune on top and an artistic sheet of cookie-stuff sticking up out of it. (I don't think Armagnac was one of the Three Musketeers, but you could look it up). I loved it so much I had it the second time there too rather than try another dessert (bad for the blog, good for the morale). It was completely new to me yet felt like an old friend, which took a while to figure out:
armangac <----> alcohol <----> rum
prune <----> dried purple fruit <----> raisin

But my favorite dish of all was the Provencal prawns at La Cantine du Florida on Place du Capitole, which was one of the restaurants I snubbed without cause last time for being in too obvious a place and therefore probably touristy. Well, if it was touristy I didn't care. I couldn't identify any specific ingredient besides garlic and prawn, but although those things can be delicious it was too stunning not to have some other tricks going on just below the threshold of identification (I think the menu said it was made with pastis, but as I had a glass before the meal no subtle hint of it was going to register). It came with some julienned green beans and other vegetables, and also with a scoop of soft rice with even softer bits of green pepper in it, which was really saturated with green pepper flavor and also very rich and savory (maybe some butter?); anyway, like the prawns and the cassoulet, delicious in a subtle way that is exactly what I'd have no chance of reproducing.

Next time I go to Toulouse, I'll know where to start eating.....

Second Corse: Soup Corse, Dessert Corse

We had some good food in Corsica, but overall I was a bit disappointed; I was hoping for a blend of the best of French and Italian food, but the food, even when good, was less refined than either. Many dishes had a bachelor kind of feel -- maybe something to do with a history dominated by pirates and military garrisons....

Stuffed eggplant is the local specialty in Bonifacio, so GD and I both had it the first night in a nice-looking restaurant chosen at random, and it was a dissapointment. Under the flavorful, sweet-and-sourish tomato sauce (which later in the trip appeared in a rich risotto with liver sausage) were four tiny, hard, dried, shriveled things that used to be halves of a small eggplant, stuffed with something we couldn't taste. We couldn't believe any reputable place would mismanage the local specialty too badly, so we figured it was supposed to be that way, but I later saw (but didn't order) a plumper looking version in another place.

Another local specialty is polenta made with chestnut flour, but it's elusive. I ordered two stews which came with polenta but it was the ordinary corn kind; finally saw the chestnut one on a specials board we were walking past, but it wasn't mealtime. If I were a serious food blogger that wouldn't have stopped me, I suppose.



Soup Corse (shown above alongside a Salad of Pale Bland Things (hearts of palm, mozzarella, corn, pine nuts)) is much like minestrone -- vegetables and one or more kinds of beans -- with some pieces ham thrown in. We had two versions which were somewhat different, and both were different from the description in the guidebook. I liked it very much, and it reminded me a bit of the High-Trust Minestrone of my youth. You always get enough of it to fill you up even when you order it as a first course.



The fanciest main course we tried was this goose breast skewer with a fig and honey sauce. Try to imagine me seeing "fig and honey sauce" on a menu and not ordering it even when I had made a pledge 10 minutes earlier that we were going to just have a light lunch. Shown along side a "Cote D'Azur" salad.

I really, really wanted to like the cookies, tarts, and brioches. I wanted to like the fact that they were made with chestnut flour. But they all tended to be hard or mealy and dry and not very flavorful. I had dreamed of a repeat of Sicily and all the stuff with orange peel and marzipan. What I should have done was always have them with an aperitif or liqueur -- Corsica is the Land of the Aperitif and Liqueur, made from muscat grapes, or myrtle (a plant which makes bay leaves and blueberries), or chestnut (of course), or bitter citrus (cedrat = Hebrew etrog). How much of that is for tourists only I don't know; maybe the locals all drink pastis or wine or beer like everyone else.



His-and-hers beverages and matching glasses. Pietra beer is made with malt, hops, and ... chestnut flour.

Coming next: Toulouse redeems itself, food-wise.

First Corse

The food experience began in the Nice airport, with pissaladiere sitting under plexiglass at the candy-and-magazines stand. It was delicious, particularly with a bottled "Menthe The Maroc" drink which tasted much better for some reason than its US counterparts even though it was also full of corn syrup and citric acid. Probably just used with more discretion. This used nicoise olives with pits, and did not have the thin layer of tomato paste under the onions (is that an American addition? An addition from Gourmet magazine only?) I haven't seen it here in Bonifacio, either. It had a great deal of rosemary, but perhaps accompanied with a few more subtle herbs as well, I wasn't sure. I never put herbs in mine before, but the rosemary plants around back are gradually taking root and starting to grow...

Pissaladiere is my current favorite food, so it's exciting to be at its epicenter. The local cookies and pastries don't look quite as exciting as those my parents and I had in Sicily, but I will report soon.

The highlight of our first couple of meals in Bonifacio was this galette "la JoJo" from La Portigliola with Corsican sausage, ricotta, gruyere, tomato, and basil. My local Pietra beer was made from chestnuts as well as malt and hops. It tasted like beer. GD's Orangina also came in a logo glass.

poor little fish & what happened to corn?

Inspired by back-to-back episodes of Iron Chef on Thursday, I tried to get all creative on IRK's asses Friday night, with mixed results.

OVERWHELMED SAND DABS

8 sand dabs (gutted and beheaded but not filleted)
8 slices of bacon
2 small yellow onions
2 large handfuls arugula
large dash of brandy
larger dash of white wine or cider, whatever is left over
salt and pepper

Dice the bacon and fry until well-cooked but not crisp. Pour off most of the fat and remove the pieces. Sautee the finely-diced onions in the last bit of the bacon grease (sorry, Mams). Put in the alcohols to moisten, and when the alcohol has boiled off put in the arugula to wilt and return the bacon bits to the pan.

About the time you start the onions browning, put the sand dabs (lightly oiled) in a preheated oven. Transfer to the broiler when you thrown in the arugula, and then it should all be ready in a few minutes.

Except don't. Use a fish that can defend itself better, like mackerel (whose flavor will stand up) or sablefish (whose texture will). Those, of course, will have to cook longer. They are also better rated on environmental and overfishing issues by Seafood Watch (Monterey Bay Aquarium).
I may try this again. Now that I think of it, it must have been Aqua which gave me the idea of using bacon at all, and they paired it with sable.

Served with a salad of diced cucumbers and radishes with finely minced scallions, and whole ears of roasted corn (which was under the broiler while the fish was in the lower part of the oven, and vice versa).

Which brings us to: what happened to corn? Back in Storrs we would get a phone call from a local microfarmer when he (she?) was picking the corn in the afternoon, and rush over to get it for dinner. We did this because it gave you the rare opportunity to have the corn sweet, as opposed to the starchy corn you got in the supermarket. If you left it until the next day, it would be starchy too. Now you buy corn in the supermarket and cook it whenever and it tastes like candy. Did they breed out the enzyme that turns sugar to starch? It seems like cheating now. Or is this a California thing? Mams, Dads, what does white corn from the Stop & Shop taste like these days?