A Civilized Picnic Lunch

I have been inspired of late. Not sure if it's the fleeting re-appearance of summer or the end of wedding planning season. (The lead up to getting married takes up far too much emotional and intellectual energy even for us non-bridezilla types and perhaps now that I am happily married, my brain has refocused on my primary pre-occupation: food!)

Paris is truly one of my favourite places because of its outdoor market culture. Although, I must confess that I have never met an outdoor market, I didn’t like. Markets in Paris sell everything, books, clothes, flowers and of course, foods. As we explored neighbourhoods and strolled down streets, we stumbled upon many markets in Paris. We weaved through markets, peering in to see what the many vendors had on offer, often picking up an impossibly light baguette, some plums, and nuts. We rounded out our market goodies with a thick slice of buttery pâté, a small wheel of rich and oozy brie, and a small handful of bittersweet chocolate squares. On a lazy afternoon, these are the best lunches – an impromptu gathering of nibbles and bites.

Today, I visited my favourite market of all markets - St. Lawrence Market with the intention of coming home with such a lunch for Ryan and me. I bought a basket full of goodies for our lunch: bresaola (salty, air-cured beef sliced thinner than paper – oh heaven!); reggiano parmesan, mini sesame breadsticks and Callebaut bittersweet chocolate. Instead of buying the delicious pâtés and rillettes they had on offer, I decided to make my own pâté. So much for a low effort lunch... but at least there will be some for freezing. Very few things are as luxurious as a smooth, rich potted pâté. In fact, this type of pate is low on the cooking effort scale. Like love, this pâté is meant to be savoured and shared.

Truffled Chicken Pâté - Terrine De Foies De Volaille

1 lb fresh chicken livers (cleaned)
1 c onion (finely minced)
1 tbsp butter
1/2 oz cognac
2 bay leaves
1 tsp truffle oil
3/4 c butter

1. Roughly chop chicken livers.
2. Melt butter in a small saucepan, add chicken livers, onions, and bay leaves.
3. Cook until chicken livers are slightly pink. Add cognac. Heat until alcohol has evaporated. (This should take a minute or two.) Remove off heat. Cover and cool.
4. When the mixture has slightly cooled, drain the liquid, reserving about 1/2c. (use it to thin out the mixture as you process it, as required.)
5. Process mixture in batches in a food processor. You are looking for a smooth creamy consistency. Set aside to cool completely.
6. If you haven't already, take the butter out of the fridge and allow to come to room temperature.
7. When mixture is fully cooled, and the butter is at room temperature, fully incorporate butter and truffle oil into the pâté mixture with a spatula.
8. Pack into small pots for serving. If not serving right away, melt butter in a saucepan, and pour melted butter (without the milk solids) to preserve the pâté. Or pack into an air-tight container to freeze for another day.

Gallic Inspiration: Moules Mariniere

I think if there is one place I could travel to over and over, it's France. There are few places in this world that soothe my culinary soul the way France does. It is quite clear to me as to why this is: It is the marriage of food and travel. Here you can enjoy the world's finest cuisine in celebrated restaurants as well as the little unpretentious gems frequented by the locals and all of this highly accessible thanks to a fantastic and extensive train system and Grade 12 French class.

And of course, my return luggage is a Canadian Customs officer's curiousity. They unzip my luggage only to find a chef's menagerie of sel gris, truffle oil, herbes de provence, wine, dark chocolate, and whatever exotic Gallic delights the country offers me. I have learned overtime, you can't bring back butter, or foie gras laced with black truffles no matter how much you plead. And boy do I try.

During our last visit to France, we took the train to Dieppe in the northern province of Normandy. We had spent the better part of the week exploring the fine cuisine Paris had to offer and now we craved soemthing more rustic and indicative of how people eat everyday.

The town of Dieppe is several hours away from Paris and we enjoyed the slow langourous ride through the French countryside. Rolling pastoral green fields stretch out beyond the horizon, occasionally interupted by small farmhouses frame after frame like pages of National Geographic. It was serene.

When we arrived in Dieppe, there was a distinct smell that city people don't experience often: the sharp metallic smell of the sea. It is a briny and strangely fresh smell that appeals to anyone who loves seafood. It's the smell of that kind of fresh. As we strolled past the many seaside bistros, it became apparently clear what the part of Normandy had to offer us today: Mussels.

Every bistro along the boat quay advertised its the daily special on hinged blackboards out front. It beckoned like a siren to hungry tourists to stop in for a little lunch in the seaside beach town. Moules et frites. Mussels and fries. Who could resist the shiny onyx shells lured open by a fragrant boozy steam to reveal dedicate saffron coloured mollusks in light garlic studded broth and a large bowlful of crisp delicate potato matchsticks and creamy pale mayonaise? So we stopped in and ordered huge bowls of steamy mussels and watched as boats bob up and down and fashionable French tourists wondered if they should stop for a bite. It was ridiculously contagious.

But today, we were at home missing that day. So, we decided when we were at St. Lawrence Market this morning, we would take a peek at the huge tank of PEI mussels at the fishmonger's. If the stars were aligned, we were going to have a delicious lunch that would transport us back to that summer day by the sea in Northern France.


Moules Mariniere
2 pounds of PEI mussels (bearded & cleaned)
1 small onion - diced
1/2 small pepper - diced
2 small carrots - sliced into coins
1 c of halved baby heirloom tomatoes
1/2c of white dry vermouth
3 cloves of crushed garlic (we love garlic)
1 tbsp of butter

In a pot large enough to hold the mussels, melt the butter until it is foamy and hot. Add the onion and garlic and saute until softened. Turn down the heat slightly and add the peppers, and carrots. Cook until the vegetables start to soften. Add the cleaned mussels to the pots and pour the vermouth on top. Cover. After two minutes, add the tomatoes to the pot and cover the pot again. Steam until the mussels open. Pour into a large serving dish and serve with slices of cursty baguette or fries.