Paris Memories

Paris sunset over wine by near the Palais Royal.

Paris is in my thoughts a lot recently. Not so much because I miss the city, but because I miss the friends I met there, and the people I love who've shared the city with me. Some of them I can talk to or email, some would not want to, and others I have no clue how to reach.

A sandwich I made often--thin Basque ham, brie, honey soaked apricot on sliced boule.

Hemingway said: "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." This is not hyperbole or fetish. Paris is a feast for the senses and the spirit. One is nourished twice; once there and then through enduring memories of everything. The food, the friends, the art and architecture, the conversations of life in other lands, politics, philosophy...too many rich experiences to collect into one sentence.

Sacre Couer

So I will have to go by memory and pictures. I can close my eyes and taste the honey soaked apricots and baguette that I shared with friends for breakfast in front of an alley cafe near the Seine. I can ruminate on hints of musty ripened cheeses on display at the outdoor markets where I shopped each week. Often I've been downtown and felt the same feeling of being alone in an empty metro station late at night; mechanical clanking sounds in the distance and dirty air breezing through the tunnels as the last trains of the night glided past. I remember informal gatherings of friends and strangers for conversation on the street near St. Michel or outside Shakespeare & Co. at dusk. My heart is filled with the lifelong friendships I formed with others there, searching as I, to feast on Paris.

From inside the Musee D'Orsay looking onto the Sacre Coeur on the hill of Montmartre (left).

This may sound like so much pomp, and it is perhaps in the grand scheme of things. I am a writer and I consider many more things than food. But food is sometimes where it all starts. Food is essential. Food is a counterpoint to living as well as a necessity to sustain life.


I also wrote about my time in the city of lights here.

Montmartre

Tuileries

A good place to eat: the Seine just near the Louvre.

A particular view from Montmartre.

Luxembourg Gardens

Pere Lachaise Cemetery, 2002. There was a young girl being buried up this hill.

Why Food Tastes Better In Pittsburgh

This couple served food from a truck on Carson St. for over a decade. Now indoors at Cambodi-can Kitchen.

I'm asked often "what's your favorite place in Pittsburgh." I could spend an hour telling you, because there isn't just one, and it changes weekly. I detest stack-ranking things; I used to stack-rank employees at a job I hated, and I really don't think I can simplify or distill my best food experiences in Pittsburgh into a sound bite.

Pizza at Winghart's in Market Square. They make a killer burger too.

Let me preface things by sharing some of my philosophy on food. I believe food is to be shared, and the best meals are made by those who want to share what they do well. Meals are a grounding event; they bring us together socially and spiritually. They can be therapy. (Also noted: some meals can cause drama that result in the need for therapy.) Meals get us unstuck from temporary problems. If only for a few minutes we can lose our minds and our senses awaken to that which really matters.

 Cure in Lawrenceville. This man shares well-crafted food in a tremendously comfortable dining room.

Money spent is not a direct indicator of the value of the food you will eat. There is a difference between food and a meal. Food you eat; a meal will nourish you, and it's far more than food. I've had great meals in simple conditions for little money. And I've had great food prepared by jerks who charge too much, but their food was worth it. Expensive food is really just a balance of knowing what you're in for and deciding whether it's worth it. But isn't it better to get great food from good people at a fair price?

An English reader shared a ploughman's lunch with me after I tweeted about Irish Cheddar  :)

There's something about Pittsburgh, that's attracting more people who want to share great food here. We have low rents and ownership is attainable for a chef early in his career. There's a wave of this happening now in Pittsburgh which is unprecedented and exciting. And about price: some things we're seeing ARE expensive at times (or if prices go up), but do realize that food is a business and costs are also rising. Talk to anyone from NYC, SF or DC and they will confirm that the best food in Pittsburgh is still a steal by comparison.

Mrs. Kwon at The Golden Pig in Cecil, PA. She moved from Korea to Pittsburgh to be closer to her son's family. He suggested she open a restaurant. It's great, by the way.

I propose that largely it's the people that make Pittsburgh an attractive destination for tourists and newcomers. I speak to many "transplants" (as they're called), some who've moved back after years elsewhere. A common theme arises: "The people here are wonderful; they're friendly. It's not like other places--people aren't faking it." I agree, as Pittsburgh has twice lured me home from bigger, "greater" cities I thought I'd never leave.

Where is this? First person to email me the correct answer I'll buy one of his pizzas.

Many foods unite this city's cultures and heritage. Like no other people I've met, Pittsburghers will go to great lengths to share their food with you. Don't worry about the venue so much; a meal doesn't have to be served on modern furniture to be exquisite. The best sandwich you may ever eat is made on a card table on Penn Ave. by a Vietnamese lady named Lucy. 


Great food is being shared in this town. If you haven't noticed it, take a little trip to some of the places I talk about. Call up someone you haven't seen in a while, take your time and make a meal of it.

This couple owns Killian's Pub on Freeport Rd. They share great grilled food and more.

 

McDonalds, Paris and Children

Actual advertisement in the Paris Metro. (2002-2003)

You may have heard that McDonalds is being sued by a mother in Sacramento over its marketing of Happy Meals. I'm confused just where I stand on this. Though I believe in freedoms of expression and commerce, I'm also concerned about corporate responsibility; specifically regarding food. I don't believe foods should be restricted just because someone thinks (or science "proves") that they're bad for you. But I think people should be provided with the information they need to make their own informed decisions. The problem is, the overwhelming force of brand marketing overrides or entirely replaces the decision-making process for a lot of folks; mainly parents.

Food marketing geared toward children is impossible to avoid. During the holidays we see ads featuring snowmen, reindeer and other animated furries in "aww shucks" low-risk advertising. It's cute; it's charming, and I tune it out. But I don't have children begging me to bring them to a restaurant to get a toy. You could say I don't have a dog in this fight, or even a bear.

I lived in France for a stretch and I was confronted with McDonalds' marketing everywhere. I snapped the top photo of the dogs in Chatelet-Les Halles, the largest metro hub in all of Paris. Les Halles used to be the central food market of Paris for over a century, which was moved to the outskirts to make way for an urban shopping mall. So now in the middle of Paris you can enter a McDonalds playing American music on their PA and order a cheeseburger and Coke while looking onto the paved square where a legendary food market used to be. There's even a McDonald's practically inside of the Louvre.

Thank you Dave Granlund for permission: www.davegranlund.com

Wanting to fit in, I didn't acknowledge that McDonalds was part of my culture; where I was from. I didn't spend a lot of money on food back then; not nearly as much as I do now. My diet consisted mainly of crepes and panini prepared by sidewalk vendors, and the bread, cheese and fruit that I could pick up from bakeries and markets in my neighborhood. There are certain aspects of Paris which are quite affordable, and a single person can eat well on just a few Euros a day. But there are not that many places where a family can eat affordably and I soon learned that McDonalds is considered one of them by many in Paris.


So back to the picture with the two dogs: What do you see? What's the message in the ad? There are many, non? Je t'expliquerai Chez McDo translates to "I'll explain it to you at McDonald's.” The dad has to explain the birds and the bees to the son, and for some reason McDonalds is the place to go. I'm not sure I follow the logic, but let's go with it. Essentially the ad posits that rights of passage like this should be coupled with a meal at McDonalds, itself a right of passage into consumerdom. (In fairness, I'll mention that Ronald McDonald Houses are safe places for families to stay while their children receivedmedical treatments.)

This look is priceless. Or rather, what is the price?

I spent several years toying with my thoughts on this ridiculous image, so indulge me here on an absurd rant. To me, the Top Dog is McDonalds' corporate voice, and it seems to be saying: "I'm gonna give it to you bitches, as I wish--in front of your kids even." The Bottom Dog perhaps is the stand-in for the consumer, though s/he may be the one being consumed in this case. Bottom Dog has a priceless look on his/her face--one of being inured to abuse. Regardless, the poor dog certainly doesn't look very hungry for another bone. I contend the imagery would've been no less subtle if the dog were taking a piss on the Tricolore. Maybe my logic doesn't hold up under scrutiny.

The Tricolore.

What do the father and son discuss at Chez McDo, anyway? The encroachment of US GMO foods into world markets? The prevailing sentiment among consumers in Europe is that American meats and foods are loaded with hormones, pesticides and genetic modifications that make us angry, agressive and fat. I have no references, but trust me I talked to a lot of people about food. The Europeans don't want to touch our meat imports with a ten-foot pole. We eat like kings in the US, even some of the poorest among us, because we are so efficient at growing food quickly and abundantly. I use the "royal we" not because I is a farmer, but because "we" is supporting the system by our purchasing choices.


What is the "real" cost of food? Starting an unhealthy diet at an early age can lead to premature aging and costly health maintenance. One of the reasons our healthcare system is so fucked up is because the vast majority of us (myself included) don't take much personal ownership about how awful the food is that we jam down our gullets. We are the literal fat geese being force-fed, only we do it to ourselves. Instead of our livers being harvested, our disease and disorder are exploited by an industry that only stands to gain by our un-healthiness. (An aside--this is a thoughtful and insightful piece on foie gras was written by a local chef.)

2010 Per Capita Healthcare Spending By Country; source: http://www.kff.org/insurance/snapshot/oecd042111.cfm

These are just ideas mind you; maybe I just needed to rant, and what better target than McDonalds?

I'm almost ashamed to admit that among countless street crepes and the occasional bistro dinner, one of my happiest meals in Paris was at Chez McDo on the Champs-Élysées, where I ordered a cheeseburger and milkshake with the pocket change from buying a metro pass. It reminded me of home. All the good things. And the bathroom was clean, the Coke was cold, and "Jenny on the Block" was playing on the radio. Half of the customers were families with little kids; mostly happy and preoccupied, some pushing little toys around on the table, oblivious of the food in front of them.

(revised 3/2012)


If you're interested in further reading on my time in Paris, visit my other blog.

Las Palmas in Brookline

Three loaded tacos at $2 each. Background: Carne asada (chopped beef) being grilled.

A friend of mine lives in Brookline, a South Pittsburgh neighborhood just a few minutes from town through the Liberty Tubes. Last week we celebrated his 40th birthday, and ended up drinking wine until late, wondering where all the years have gone. In the Pittsburgh Winter, our talks gravitate toward memories of San Diego. My family lived there years ago, and so has he more recently. I have great memories of squeezing lime into tacos in that town in any one of a number of eateries.

The next morning, he's telling me about Las Palmas, a family-owned neighborhood market in Brookline. I get excited about things like this and he knows it. He's a gourmand like me, the person who in the 90s introduced me to such concepts as Sushi and the Fish Taco. And so at 9am, unable to sleep later, we trudged out the door to the shopping district of Brookline Boulevard. It's a wide, shop-lined thoroughfare with streaks of mostly occupied storefronts. I was bound to get my hands on the hangover cure du jour: lime, cilantro, tomatoes, marinated meats, beans and tortillas. But first we grabbed coffee at cozy Cannon Coffee on Brookline Boulevard, also my first visit there.

Perhaps I’m waxing too poetic, but fresh salsa, in its simplicity, could be no more perfect. It’s an alchemy that reminds me how simple a transformation can be. Chop, chop, and stir. No worries about precise temperatures or blending of roux at the right time so the sauce won't break, etc. If you don't know what I mean, grab a can of crushed tomatoes, a lime, sea salt, a clove of garlic, and a handful of fresh cilantro. Throw them in a blender and dip in a spoon. Add a jalapeno, or some other chile for heat. Onions for bite. You get it, right?

I walked into Las Palmas without expectation. My initial reactions were of surprise and delight, if mitigated by a throbbing hangover and chills from the damp cold outside. There are just a few aisles, packed to the hilt with food, leading to a stuffed butcher case in the back of the store. Along the right aisle is a single register with a slick, clean conveyor belt and polished stainless steel. A massive phone card wall, piñatas hanging, fresh baked pastries, a produce display with prices that rival the cheapest in the Strip district, with no “marginal” produce. I grabbed a few limes, a bunch of cilantro, an onion, and two tomatoes. To the left of the aisle are rows of jars and cans: beans, chiles, salsas, sofrito, tomatoes; you name it, and several brands for each variety. I placed a can of refried black beans into my basket.

In the back of the store is a display case of prepared meats, some marinated. The three men cutting meat behind the counter were helpful and seemed somewhat amused when I ordered in Spanish. I restrained myself, asking only for a pound of al pastor pork @ $2.99/lb. Tacos al pastor (literally “shepherd style”) is a ubiquitous Mexican dish of pork shoulder cut into small chunks, marinated in oil, chile, spices and pineapple. Pineapple juice has an enzyme that tenderizes the meat. It's thought that this dish was influenced by the Lebanese-Mexican immigrants who brought their own marinated, roasted meat dish, Shawarma.

The basket was growing heavy, and my friend’s patience was wearing thin, so I grabbed some tortillas and cut the tour short, with all intentions of returning soon. I browse through markets like they are museums; reading labels and comparing prices and asking questions as though I were writing about it. Wait…this is something I have to share, I thought. This very moment was the inception of my blog. I love to explore food, and I love to share what I find with people I love. It's a common trait, especially in this town.

We departed Las Palmas in a car smelling of lime, garlic, chile and spilled coffee. In no time I was at work on the stove, frying the meat, scrambling eggs (modified al pastor for breakfast) adding the beans and stirring the salsa. I steamed a few tortillas over the meat and beans in the skillet, and voila!

Just days later, I learned that they grill tacos in the front of the store on the weekends. The selection includes carne asada (minced steak), carnitas (chopped pork), or chorizo for $1 each. Lomo (Ribeye) is $2. (Prices have been raised and tacos are now all $2/each.) You get two beautifully grilled corn tortillas, heaped with meat of your choice. You choose your toppings from a tidy buffet cart with avocado cream, lime wedges, pico de gallo, cilantro, salsa verde, salsa picante, onions, chopped chiles and a few more I fail to recall. Let this image speak for the food: Until 8pm, two men warming their hands over a grill, were serving an almost constant line of customers in damp 32 degree weather on a corner in Brookline. I went back for seconds as my fingers, damp with salsa and taco juices, were exhibiting early signs of frostbite.

My friend only eats one of the two shells. He detests excess carbs.

Mexican-owned restaurants and stores are steadily growing in number here in Pittsburgh. Behind each one is a group of proud owners. There’s a reason for that: pride, or in Spanish, orgullo. The passion we Americans have for eating Mexican food is always exceeded by those preparing it. These places are cultural enclaves, outposts and reminders of things far away that cannot be touched from the Pittsburgh Winter. Such is the case at Las Palmas. It's a sparkling clean Supermercado y Carniceria, full of pride and flavor. It's one of many international places, that both welcomes and is welcomed in our city. It's in Pittsburgh; and that's what makes it so special.

Espresso A Mano in Lawrenceville

A man sharing great coffee.

One of my fondest memories is of my former landlord in New Jersey. She was a kind Italian woman in her seventies; possibly much older. She lived next door and it seemed she was always up before me banging dishes around, pulling roots, shoveling snow or running a vacuum. But there were also uncanny stretches of silence accompanied by the aromas of baking or pots simmering. While I was getting ready for work sometimes the doorbell would ring, and waiting outside would be a tray of coffee and cookies.  The coffee was freshly brewed into a mug topped with a metal strainer, a scrap of paper towel holding steaming grounds. Despite being filtered through Bounty, the coffee was tasty and smooth; quite so after dunking iced sugar cookies into it. Her hospitality was endearing and will never be forgotten. My rent was also never late.

Hand brewed and specifically hand-poured coffee has been around forever. Among enthusiasts and baristas, it's a passion and craft, and taken quite seriously even to the level of competition. Many local coffee shops offer pour over brewing for some, if not all of their coffee. My favorite is Espresso A Mano in Lawrenceville. Matt, the proprietor, is one of the friendliest and most knowledgeable baristas I've encountered. He's calm and soft spoken and addresses most of his customers by name. Honoring its namesake, the cafe is known for its handcrafted espresso drinks; their delicate latte art was featured on a cover of Edible Allegheny magazine.

A sweet cup of Counter Culture's Aida's Grand Reserve. 

Espresso A Mano sources its coffee primarily from Counter Culture and Indiana, PA's Commonplace Roasters. Many are direct & fair-trade, innovative purchasing which benefits the welfare of the growers as well as the quality of their coffee. Often there's a moving story about the people behind the beans. Matt, Dana or Braden (or any other of their dedicated baristas) can give an articulate description of each variety as well as the various preparations they offer. If you like what you've tasted, the beans are available to go for a reasonable price.

Pour-over brewing employs a teacup-like filter holder and a steel kettle with a thin, swan-like spout. The barista delicately douses the freshly ground coffee, allowing it to bloom. After a short bit, the barista pours a slow and even flow of water. The result is a special cup of coffee worth every penny. (Price varies, but around $3) The flavors and texture are clean, delicious and awakening to the palate. To note: the brighter and sweeter coffees are great palate cleansers. I'm much more aware of food flavors after drinking them. If you're interested in espresso, this is a fine place for that. They generally offer two different varieties which are markedly different in taste.

Espresso a Mano sits in a relaxed and well appointed space. It's rustic yet modern with original brick walls, wooden beams supporting overhead floorboards and a gleamingly polished espresso machine reflecting your image as you pass. Though you will see mostly professionals and students interacting with the shop's free wifi, you can find yourself pulled into a conversation with strangers standing with their coffee around the ample coffee bar. If you're impatient and easily upset, this might not be the place for you. Drinks are made quickly but with a keen eye to quality.

Enrico Biscotti in the Strip keeps Espresso A Mano stocked with oversized cookies, biscotti and other various pastries. A favorite combo of mine is an espresso and peanut butter cookie. But that's me. E2 in Highland Park brings over a duo of panini selections daily, which are grilled fresh to order. For a coffee shop, I've had some damned satisfying meals here.

Handcrafted coffee is worth the wait.  It's a simple pleasure that won't be discovered if in a hurry. In the right hands, coffee is elevated to a serious craft; a meditation of alchemy and technique to produce a delicious result. Espresso A Mano is one of those few places where this magic happens. When such effort is given, you are compelled to relax, to slow down and savor. Quite the opposite of how coffee is largely thought of.

Espresso a Mano, and probably your local coffee shop, offer most of the equipment you would need to pourover brew at home. It's well worth the investment in my opinion, especially if you're spending top dollar on coffee. Before ordering online, I recommend you consider directing your dollars locally, considering the economy (and shipping costs).